THE next morning I began to think of departing; I had sewed up the money
which I had received for the horse in a portion of my clothing, where I
entertained no fears for its safety, with the exception of a small sum in
notes, gold and silver, which I carried in my pocket. Ere departing,
however, I determined to stroll about and examine the town, and observe
more particularly the humours of the fair than I had hitherto an
opportunity of doing. The town, when I examined it, offered no object
worthy of attention but its church—an edifice of some antiquity; under
the guidance of an old man, who officiated as sexton, I inspected its
interior attentively, occasionally conversing with my guide, who,
however, seemed much more disposed to talk about horses than the church.
“No good horses in the fair this time, measter,” said he; “none but one
brought hither by a chap whom nobody knows, and bought by a foreigneering
man, who came here with Jack Dale. The horse fetched a good swinging
price, which is said, however, to be much less than its worth; for the
horse is a regular clipper; not such a one ’tis said, has been seen in
the fair for several summers. Lord Whitefeather says that he believes
the fellow who brought him to be a highwayman, and talks of having him
taken up, but Lord Whitefeather is only in a rage because he could not
get him for himself. The chap would not sell it to un; Lord Screw wanted
to beat him down, and the chap took huff, said he wouldn’t sell it to him
at no price, and accepted the offer of the foreigneering man, or of Jack,
who was his ’terpreter, and who scorned to higgle about such an hanimal,
because Jack is a gentleman, though bred a dickey-boy, whilst ’tother,
though bred a Lord, is a screw and a whitefeather. Every one says the
cove was right, and I says so too; I likes spirit, and if the cove were
here, and in your place, measter, I would invite him to drink a pint of
beer. Good horses are scarce now, measter, ay, and so are good men,
quite a different set from what there were when I was young; that was the
time for men and horses. Lord bless you, I know all the breeders about
here; they are not a bad set, and they breed a very fairish set of
horses, but they are not like what their fathers were, nor are their
horses like their fathers’ horses. Now there is Mr. —, the great
breeder, a very fairish man, with very fairish horses; but, Lord bless
you, he’s nothing to what his father was, nor his steeds to his father’s;
I ought to know, for I was at the school here with his father, and
afterwards for many a year helped him to get up his horses; that was when
I was young, measter—those were the days. You look at that monument,
measter,” said he, as I stopped and looked attentively at a monument on
the southern side of the church near the altar; “that was put up for a
rector of this church, who lived a long time ago, in Oliver’s time, and
was ill-treated and imprisoned by Oliver and his men; you will see all
about it on the monument. There was a grand battle fought nigh this
place, between Oliver’s men and the Royal party, and the Royal party had
the worst of it, as I’m told they generally had; and Oliver’s men came
into the town, and did a great deal of damage, and ill-treated the
people. I can’t remember anything about the matter myself, for it
happened just one hundred years before I was born, but my father was
acquainted with an old countryman, who lived not many miles from here,
who said he remembered perfectly well the day of the battle; that he was
a boy at the time, and was working in a field near the place where the
battle was fought, and he heard shouting and noise of firearms, and also
the sound of several balls, which fell in the field near him. Come this
way, measter, and I will show you some remains of that day’s field.”
Leaving the monument, on which was inscribed an account of the life and
sufferings of the Royalist Rector of Horncastle, I followed the sexton to
the western end of the church, where, hanging against the wall, were a
number of scythes stuck in the ends of poles. “Those are the weapons,
measter,” said the sexton, “which the great people put into the hands of
a number of the country folks, in order that they might use them against
Oliver’s men; ugly weapons enough; however, Oliver’s men won, and Sir
Jacob Ashley and his party were beat. And a rare time Oliver and his men
had of it, till Oliver died, when the other party got the better, not by
fighting, ’tis said, but through a General Monk, who turned sides. Ah,
the old fellow that my father knew said he well remembered the time when
General Monk went over and proclaimed Charles the Second. Bonfires were
lighted everywhere, oxen roasted, and beer drunk by pailfuls; the country
folks were drunk with joy, and something else; sung scurvy songs about
Oliver to the tune of Barney Banks, and pelted his men, wherever they
found them, with stones and dirt.” “The more ungrateful scoundrels
they,” said I. “Oliver and his men fought the battle of English
independence against a wretched king and corrupt lords. Had I been
living at the time, I should have been proud to be a trooper of Oliver.”
“You would, measter, would you? Well, I never quarrels with the opinions
of people who come to look at the church, and certainly independence is a
fine thing. I like to see a chap of an independent spirit, and if I were
now to see the cove who refused to sell his horse to my Lord Screw and
Whitefeather, and let Jack Dale have him, I would offer to treat him to a
pint of beer—e’es, I would, verily. Well, measter, you have now seen the
church, and all there’s in it worth seeing—so I’ll just lock up, and go
and finish digging the grave I was about when you came, after which I
must go into the fair to see how matters are going on. Thank ye,
measter,” said he, as I put something into his hand; “thank ye kindly;
’tis not every one who gives me a shilling now-a-days who comes to see
the church, but times are very different from what they were when I was
young; I was not sexton then, but something better; helped Mr. — with his
horses, and got many a broad crown. Those were the days, measter, both
for men and horses; and I say, measter, if men and horses were so much
better when I was young than they are now, what, I wonder, must they have
been in the time of Oliver and his men?”
[Picture: Horncastle Church in 1820 (since restored)]