FREE QUARTERS.
FALSTAFF. 'Sblood! 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant
Scot had paid me scot and lot too.--HENRY IV.
The redness of the moon passed away as it ascended into the blue wide
vault, and its cold white lustre was poured upon the level English
landscape that spread at the feet of the Scottish soldiers, as they
began to ascend the heights, or gentle eminence to the northward of
Ipswich. Above the winter-smoke of the dense little town, the spires
of its churches stood out in bold relief, like lances glittering
through a sea of gauze; and the _wich_ or bend of the beautiful
Orwell swept in a silvery semicircle, like a gleaming snake, among
the fallow fields and leafless copsewood; and far around the scenery
spread like a moonlit map or fairy amphitheatre. All was still in
the town below; at times, a light twinkled, or a voice rang out upon
the quietness that reigned there, but the Scots' Royals, who were
halted on the brow of an eminence, over which wound the northern road
(the way to their distant home), heard nothing to indicate the
success of their comrades.
Anon a vast blaze gleamed broadly and redly on the night, revealing a
thousand striking objects unseen before,--the church of St. Peter,
with its gleaming windows, and the Gothic façade of Wolsey's ruined
college. A loud explosion followed, a shout rose up from the town
below; then all became still, and it seemed, as before, to float in
the calm misty light of the silver moon.
"Finland has blown up the English magazine," said the Earl; "and here
he comes."
The clatter of hoofs and wheels ringing in the narrow streets, and
rumbling above the hollow bridge of the Orwell, approached; steel
caps flashed in the moonlight above the parapet, the gleam of arms
was reflected in the surface of the river, and in a few minutes
Douglas, Walter Fenton, Gavin of that ilk, and their party seated on
the tumbrils, dashed up with four pieces of beautiful brass cannon,
marked with the broad arrow and red rose of England, and drawn by
twelve horses captured for the occasion.
"Bravo, Finland!" exclaimed the Earl; "here are four braw marrows for
old Mons Meg."
"Would to heaven, my lord, they were in the Maiden Castle alongside
of her, with the standard of the Cock o' the North waving over them!"
"How so?--art faint-hearted, man?"
"Tush, I am a Douglas.--Ask Gavin."
"What news, my tall grenadier?--You have the rix-dollars, I hope."
"My Lord Earl, the devil a tester. This English burgomaster was not
a whit dismayed by my threats, but assailed me with a band of
tip-staves; so, with drawn rapier, I was glad to beat a retreat and
gain Finland's band with my skin whole."
"And what think you inspired him to beard us thus?" asked Walter.
"By the head of the King, I care not!" said Dunbarton, setting his
teeth and rising in his stirrups. "I will hang him from yonder
steeple and inquire after."
"Jeddart justice all the world over," muttered old Wemyss.
"He had received news that Sir John Lanier, with his regiment of
Dragoon guards and Langstone's horse, have already reached Saffron
Waldron, in which case it were madness in us to tarry."
"Gavin, must we then retreat?" said the Earl, colouring with passion.
"Who brought these evil tidings?"
"An English gentleman."
"Pshaw--I don't think he can be relied on."
"I know him to be a man of good repute," replied Gavin: "Sir Tufton
Shirley of Mildenham. He fought for the King at Sedgemoor. I
warrant him brave and honourable as any cavalier in his country."
"Be advised, noble Earl," urged the grim old Laird of Drumquhasel;
"every moment is worth the life of a brave comrade."
"Indubitably so," added the Reverend Dr. Joram, as he spurred a
prancing mare which he had borrowed unconditionally, with holsters
and saddle-bags, from the host of the Bulloign-gate. "As Sir John
Mennys saith in his 'Musarum Delicæ'--
"Hee that fights and runnis away,
May live to fight----"
Ye know the rest, sirs."
"We are not wont to make such reservations, reverend sir; but you are
in the right," replied the Earl. "March in silence, comrades, and
with circumspection. Keep your ranks close and your matches
lighted--forward!"
About midnight they passed Needham, a town on the Orwell. All was
dark and silent; scarcely a dog barked as they marched through its
deserted streets, and continued their way, by the light of the stars,
across the fertile country beyond. The fugitive Scots marched with
great care and rapidity; four hundred miles lay between them and
their native land, a long and perilous route, on which they knew
innumerable dangers and difficulties would attend them.
De Ginckel, the Dutch Earl of Athlone, Sir John Lamer, and Colonel
Langstone, with six regiments of horse and dragoons, and Major
Maitland with a brigade of the renegade Scottish Guards, were
pressing forward by various routes to intercept and cut them off. No
man dared, on peril of his life, to straggle from the ranks; for, as
Scotsmen and Loyalists, they were doubly enemies to the English
peasantry, who would infallibly have murdered any that fell into
their hands, as they had done all the Scottish wounded and stragglers
after the battle of Worcester. And thus, animated by anxiety, hope,
and the exhortations of the gallant Dunbarton and his cavaliers, they
marched--all heavily accoutred as they were--with such amazing
rapidity, that, long ere daybreak, they had left Bury St. Edmunds,
with its ancient spire and once magnificent abbey, twenty miles
behind them.
Making detours through the fields, cutting a passage through walls,
hedges, and fences, they avoided every town and village, and more
than once were brought to a halt by Gavin, who led the avant guard,
declaring that he saw helmets glittering in the light of the waning
moon. They forded the waters of the Lark, and the cold grey light of
the winter morning began to brighten the level horizon, throwing
forward in dark relief the distant trees and village spires, as they
came in sight of Ely, without having encountered their Dutch or
English foemen.
The cold was intense; and the same white frost that powdered the
grassy lawns and leafless trees encrusted the iron helmets and
corslets of the soldiers, whose breath curled from their close ranks
like smoke from a fire. To Scotsmen even the most hilly parts of the
landscape appeared almost a dead level, where Ely, with its fine
cathedral and street, that straggled on each side of the roadway,
seemed floating in a sea of white mist, through which the Ouse wound
like a golden thread. Shorn of its beams by the thick winter haze,
the morning sun, like a luminous ball of glowing crimson, ascended
slowly into its place, and the great tower and pinnacles of Ely
Cathedral gleamed in its light as if their rich Gothic carving had
been covered with the richest gilding, and the tall traceried windows
shone like plates of burnished gold.
The Reverend Dr. Joram, who had dashed forward with cocked pistols to
reconnoitre, returned to report, with military precision, that "it
was a fair city, open, without cannon or fortifications of any kind;
and that, if it contained soldiers, they kept no watch or ward. And
I pray Heaven," he added, "we may get wherewith to break our fast."
"We will march in with drums beating," said the Earl. "Allons, mon
tambour Major! Give us the old Scottish march, with which stout
James of Hepburn so often scared the Imperialists in their trenches
on the Oder and the Maine."
With drums beating, standards displayed, and matches lighted, the
solid column marched into the little city of Ely just as the tenth
hour rang from the cathedral bells, and halting, the Earl sent to the
affrighted mayor to demand peaceably three hours' quarters and
subsistence for 1,500 Scots in the service of King James. The mayor,
who on the previous night had dispatched a most loyal address to the
new King William, was considerably dismayed to find the city so
suddenly filled by the soldiers of a nation he equally feared and
detested: but to hear was to obey. The determined aspect of young
Walter Fenton, with his features flushed and red by the long and
frosty night march, his drawn rapier, and Scottish accent and fashion
of armour, made the mayor use every exertion to get his unwelcome
visitors peaceably billeted on the terrified citizens, who expected
nothing less than immediate sack and slaughter.
To the Earl he sent a flowery invitation to breakfast, thus
anticipating Dunbarton, who had proposed to invite himself. The
other cavaliers quartered themselves on any houses that suited their
fancy; and Walter Fenton, Finland, and their jovial chaplain took
possession of a handsome old mansion at the extremity of the city,
having with them Wemyss and a few soldiers, to prevent treachery,
surprise, or inattention on the part of the occupants, whom they
desired to prepare a substantial breakfast, on peril of their lives,
ere the drums beat to arms.
It was an ancient, oriel-windowed house, with clusters of carved
chimnies rising from steep wooden gables, around which the withered
vine and dark-green ivy clambered; its gloomy dining-hall, lighted by
three painted and mullioned windows, was floored with oak, and
curiously wainscotted. A great pile of roots and coal was blazing in
the projecting fireplace, and a shout of approbation burst from the
frozen guests as they clattered in, and drawing chairs around the
joyous hearth, threw aside their steel caps, and demanded breakfast
as vociferously as if each was lord of the mansion, and the venerable
butler looked from one to another in confusion and dismay.
"Fellow, where is thy master?" asked Finland; "why comes he not to
greet the King's soldiers, if he is a true cavalier?"
"To be plain, sir, his honour took horse, and rode off whenever your
drums were heard beating down-hill."
"Some rascally old roundhead! and why did he ride--was he afraid we
would eat him?"
"I know not, sir; but a bold horseman is my master; and he dashed
into the Ouse as if he saw the game before him."
"Or the devil behind!" added the clergyman. "Mahoud! a thought
strikes me--he crossed the Ouse--what if he be gone to warn De
Ginckel of our route? The Swart Ruyters were last seen at Haverhill."
"Convince us of that, Doctor," said Walter, "and we should burn this
fair house to the ground-stone."
"Gadso, lad; let us have breakfast first. Harkee, butler----"
"Thou see'st, reverend sir," began the old servant, trembling.
"Avaunt, caitiff! dost thou _thou_ me? 'I am come of good kin,' as
the old morality saith," cried Joram; "fetch me a pint of sack
posset, dashed with ginger, and a white loaf, while breakfast is
preparing; and if you would save your back from my riding-rod, and
your master's mansion from the flames, see that our repast be such as
not even Heliogabalus could find a fault with."
"And bring me a wassail bowl of spiced ale," said Finland.
"And me a stoup of brandy, master butler," added Sergeant Wemyss.
"And me the same," chorussed Hab Elshender and the soldiers at the
lower end of the hall; while his Reverence the chaplain, stretching
himself before the ruddy flames, began the old ditty of the Cavaliers
of Fortune.
"Now all you brave lads that would hazard for honour,
Hark! how Bellona her trumpet doth blow;
Mars, with many a warlike banner,
Bravely displayed, invites you to goe!
Germani, Denmark, and Sweden, are smoking,
With a band of brave sworders each other provoking,
Marching in their armour bright,
Summonis you to glory's fight,
Sing tan ta, ra, ra, ra, ra, ra!"
As his Reverence concluded, he drained the sack posset, which the
white-haired butler placed obsequiously before him.
"Many a time and oft have I heard my father chant that old Swedish
war-song," said Finland. "He commanded a regiment of Ruyters under
Gustavus."
"O Vivat! Gustavus Adolphus, we cry,
With thee all must either win honour or die!
Tan, ta ra, ra, ra, ra, ra!"
sang the chaplain; "O 'tis a jolly anthem. Heres to his
memory--Gustavus Adolphus, the friend of the soldier of fortune--the
Cæsar of Sweden--the Star of the North! I perceive, gentlemen,"
continued the divine, "that there are virginals and music in yonder
oriel window. What say ye--shall we summon the rosy English dame,
whose dainty fingers I doubt not, press those ivory keys, that she
may sing us some of the merry southern madrigals King Charles loved
so well?"
"Nay, Doctor, by Heaven!" said Walter, as the thought of his absent
Lilian (for whose sake all the sex were dear to him) flashed upon his
mind. "If there are ladies here, no man shall molest them while I
can hold a rapier."
"Hear this young cock o' the game," said Joram, angrily; "he cocks
his beaver like a mohock already."
"Well spoken, young comrade," said Finland; "our clerical friend hath
mistaken his avocation. Instead of entering holy orders, he should
have been purveyor to old Dalyel's Red Cossacks."
"'Sdeath! gentlemen," said the divine, colouring; "I only jested, and
you turn on me like so many harpies. But as for you, Mr. Fenton, my
pretty cavaliero, _who_ proposed burning the mansion to the
ground-stone?"
"I knew not that it contained ladies."
"My lady comes of an old cavalier family, noble sirs," said the old
butler, with great perturbation; "and would herself appear to greet
you, but illness----"
"It is enough, good fellow," replied Finland; "how is she named?"
"She is a daughter of old Sir Tufton Shirley."
"Then God bless her!" said Joram; "her father's Hall of Mildenham can
show the marks of Cromwell's bullets. And your master, gaffer
Englishman--_his_ name?"
"Marmaduke Langstone," answered the servant, hesitatingly.
"Who commands a corps of Red Dragoons on the borders of Bedfordshire?"
"The same."
"Then hell's malison on him for a false, canting, prick-eared,
round-headed, double-dyed traitor!" exclaimed the chaplain,
furiously, as he attacked a cold sirloin, with the same energy as if
it had been the proprietor. "He is now tracking us from place to
place; but if he comes within reach of our cannon--Gadso! let him
look to it."
A sumptuous breakfast of cold roasted beef, venison pies, broiled
salmon, white manchets, cheese, butter, eggs, milk, possets of sack,
tankards of spiced ale, coffee, &c. had been spread on the table of
the dining-hall, by the timid English servants, whose dread and
aversion of their unwelcome guests often made the latter laugh
outright.
"I am glad," said Walter, as he breakfasted, "we have taken quarters
in the house of so false a traitor. I should like much to have a
horse; and, for the service of King James, I will mulct him of the
best in his stable."
Wemyss and other soldiers, who occupied the lower end of the long oak
table, were feasting, with all the voracity of famished kites, on the
rich viands; but while hewing down the great sirloin in vast slices,
Hab Elshender declared that he "would rather have a cogue of brose at
his mother's ingle-neuk, than the best that bluff England could
produce."
"And well I agree with thee, friend Hab," said the veteran Wemyss.
"My heart misgives me, we will be sorely forfoughten, ere we see the
blue reek curling from our ain lumheeds. But here is to
Dunbarton--God bless his noble heart, and the good old cause."
"Good Wemyss, and you, my brave lads," said Dr. Joram, from the head
of the table, "I crave to drink with you."
"Thanks to your Reverence--thanks to your honour," muttered the
soldiers, bowing and drinking.
The meal was a very protracted one; but the moment it was over, Dr.
Joram muttered a hasty blessing, called loudly for more wine, lighted
his great pipe, unbuttoned his vest, and with Finland sat down to a
game at tric-trac; the soldiers began to examine their bandoleers and
musquets, and Walter repaired to the ample but nearly empty stables,
where, from among the indifferent farm horses the necessities of war
had left behind, he selected a fine-looking charger, high-headed,
close-eared, square-nosed, and broad-chested, and having saddled,
bridled, and caparisoned him to his entire satisfaction, led him
forth just as the générale was beaten. Mounting, he galloped to the
muster-place, well pleased with the acquisition the law of reprisal
and the fortune of war entitled him to make.