Edward was certain that Mr. Langton would not have advised him to leave
London if he had not considered that it was dangerous to remain. He
therefore first called upon the Hamburgh merchant, who, upon his
explanation, gave him a letter of credit to a friend who resided in the
city of York; and then returned to the hotel, packed up his
saddle-bags, paid his reckoning, and, mounting his horse, set off on
the northern road. As it was late in the afternoon before he was clear
of the metropolis, he did not proceed farther than Barnet, where he
pulled up at the inn. As soon as he had seen his horse attended to,
Edward, with his saddle-bags on his arm, went into the room in the inn
where all the travelers congregated. Having procured a bed, and given
his saddle-bags into the charge of the hostess, he sat down by the
fire, which, although it was warm weather, was nevertheless kept alight.
Edward had made no alteration in the dress which he had worn since he
had been received in the house of Mr. Heatherstone. It was plain,
although of good materials. He wore a high-crowned hat, and,
altogether, would, from his attire, have been taken for one of the
Roundhead party. His sword and shoulder-belt were indeed of more gay
appearance than those usually worn by the Roundheads; but this was the
only difference.
When Edward first entered the room, there were three persons in it,
whose appearance was not very prepossessing. They were dressed in what
had once been gay attire, but which now exhibited tarnished lace,
stains of wine, arid dust from traveling. They eyed him as he entered
with his saddle-bags, and one of them said--
"That's a fine horse you were riding, sir. Has he much speed?"
"He has," replied Edward, as he turned away and went into the bar to
speak with the hostess, and give his property into her care.
"Going north, sir?" inquired the same person when Edward returned.
"Not exactly," replied Edward, walking to the window to avoid further
conversation.
"The Roundhead is on the stilts," observed another of the party.
"Yes," replied the first; "it is easy to see that he has not been
accustomed to be addressed by gentlemen; for half a pin I would slit
his ears!"
Edward did not choose to reply; he folded his arms and looked at the
man with contempt.
The hostess, who had overheard the conversation, now called for her
husband, and desired him to go into the room and prevent any further
insults to the young gentleman who had just come in. The host, who knew
the parties, entered the room, and said--
"Now you'll clear out of this as fast as you can; be off with you, and
go to the stables, or I'll send for somebody whom you will not like."
The three men rose and swaggered, but obeyed the host's orders, and
left the room.
"I am sorry, young master, that these roisterers should have affronted
you, as my wife tells me that they have. I did not know that they were
in the house. We can not well refuse to take in their horses; but we
know well who they are, and, if you are traveling far, you had better
ride in company."
"Thank you for your caution, my good host," replied Edward; "I thought
that they were highwaymen, or something of that sort."
"You have made a good guess, sir; but nothing has yet been proved
against them, or they would not be here. In these times we have strange
customers, and hardly know who we take in. You have a good sword there,
sir, I have no doubt; but I trust that you have other arms."
"I have," replied Ed ward, opening his doublet, and showing his pistols.
"That's right, sir. Will you take any thing before you go to bed?"
"Indeed I will, for I am hungry; any thing will do, with a pint of
wine."
As soon as he had supped, Edward asked the hostess for his saddle-bags,
and went up to his bed.
Early the next morning he rose and went to the stable to see his horse
fed. The three men were in the stables, but they did not say any thing
to him. Edward returned to the inn, called for breakfast, and as soon
as he had finished, took out his pistols to renew the priming. While so
occupied, he happened to look up, and perceived one of the men with his
face against the window, watching him. "Well, now you see what you have
to expect, if you try your trade with me," thought Edward. "I am very
glad that you have been spying." Having replaced his pistols, Edward
paid his reckoning, and went to the stable, desiring the hostler to
saddle his horse and fix on his saddle-bags. As soon as this was done,
he mounted and rode off. Before he was well clear of the town, the
highwaymen cantered past him on three well-bred active horses. "I
presume we shall meet again," thought Edward, who for some time
cantered at a gentle pace, and then, as his horse was very fresh, he
put him to a faster pace, intending to do a long day's work. He had
ridden about fifteen miles, when he came to a heath, and, as he
continued at a fast trot, he perceived the three highwaymen about a
quarter of a mile in advance of him; they were descending a hill which
was between them, and he soon lost sight of them again. Edward now
pulled up his horse to let him recover his wind, and walked him gently
up the hill. He had nearly gained the summit when he heard the report
of firearms, and soon afterward a man on horseback, in full speed,
galloped over the hill toward him. He had a pistol in his hand, and his
head turned back. The reason for this was soon evident, as immediately
after him appeared the three highwaymen in pursuit. One fired his
pistol at the man who fled, and missed him. The man then fired in
return, and with true aim, as one of the highwaymen fell. All this was
so sudden, that Edward had hardly time to draw his pistol and put spurs
to his horse, before the parties were upon him, and were passing him.
Edward leveled at the second highwayman as he passed him, and the man
fell. The third highwayman, perceiving this, turned his horse to the
side of the road, cleared a ditch, and galloped away across the heath.
The man who had been attacked had pulled up his horse when Edward came
to his assistance, and now rode up to him, saying,
"I have to thank you, sir, for your timely aid; for these rascals were
too many for me."
"You are not hurt, I trust, sir?" replied Edward. "No, not the least;
the fellow singed my curls though, as you may perceive. They attacked
me about half a mile from here. I was proceeding north when I heard the
clatter of hoofs behind me; I looked round and saw at once what they
were, and I sprung my horse out of the road to a thicket close to it,
that they might not surround me. One of the three rode forward to stop
my passage, and the other two rode round to the back of the thicket to
get behind me. I then saw that I had separated them, and could gain a
start upon them by riding back again, which I did, as fast as I could,
and they immediately gave chase. The result you saw. Between us we have
broken up the gang; for both these fellows seem dead, or nearly so."
"What shall we do with them?"
"Leave them where they are," replied the stranger. "I am in a hurry to
get on. I have important business at the city of York, and can not
waste my time in depositions, and such nonsense. It is only two
scoundrels less in the world, and there's an end of the matter."
As Edward was equally anxious to proceed, he agreed with the stranger,
that it was best to do as he proposed.
"I am also going north," replied Edward, "and am anxious to get there
as soon as I can."
"With your permission we will ride together," said the stranger. "I
shall be the gainer, as I shall feel that I have one with me who is to
be trusted to in case of any further attacks during our journey."
There was such a gentlemanlike, frank, and courteous air about the
stranger, that Edward immediately assented to his proposal, of their
riding in company for mutual protection. He was a powerful, well-made
man, of apparently about one or two-and-twenty, remarkably handsome in
person, dressed richly, but not gaudily, in the Cavalier fashion, and
wore a hat with a feather. As they proceeded, they entered into
conversation on indifferent matters for some time, neither party
attempting by any question to discover who his companion might be.
Edward had more than once, when the conversation flagged for a minute,
considered what reply he should give in case his companion should ask
him the cause of his journey, and at last had made up his mind what to
say.
A little before noon they pulled up to bait their horses at a small
village; the stranger observing that he avoided St. Alban's, and all
other large towns, as he did not wish to satisfy the curiosity of
people, or to have his motions watched; and therefore, if Edward had no
objection, he knew the country so well, that he could save time by
allowing him to direct their path. Edward was, as may be supposed, very
agreeable to this, and, during their whole journey, they never entered
a town, except they rode through it after dark; and put up at humble
inns on the roadside, where, if not quite so well attended to, at all
events they were free from observation.
It was, however, impossible that this reserve could continue long, as
they became more and more intimate every day. At last the stranger said,
"Master Armitage, we have traveled together for some time,
interchanging thoughts and feelings, but with due reserve as respects
ourselves and our own plans. Is this to continue? If so, of course you
have but to say so; but if you feel inclined to trust me, I have the
same feeling toward you. By your dress I should imagine that you
belonged to a party to which I am opposed; but your language and
manners do not agree with your attire; and I think a hat and feathers
would grace that head better than the steeple-crowned affair which now
covers it. It may be that the dress is only assumed as a disguise: you
know best. However, as I say, I feel confidence in you, to whatever
party you may belong, and I give you credit for your prudence and
reserve in these troubled times. I am a little older than you, and may
advise you; and I am indebted to you, and can not therefore betray
you--at least I trust you believe so."
"I do believe it," replied Edward; "and I will so far answer you,
Master Chaloner, that this attire of mine is not the one which I would
wear, if I had my choice."
"I believe that," replied Chaloner; "and I can not help thinking you
are bound north on the same business as myself, which is, I confess to
you honestly, to strike a blow for the king. If you are on the same
errand, I have two old relations in Lancashire, who are stanch to the
cause; and I am going to their house to remain until I can join the
army. If you wish it, you shall come with me, and I will promise you
kind treatment and safety while under their roof."
"And the names of these relatives of yours, Master Chaloner?" said
Edward.
"Nay, you shall have them; for when I trust, I trust wholly. Their name
is Conynghame."
Edward took his letters from out of his side-pocket, and handed one of
them to his fellow-traveler. The address was, "To the worthy Mistress
Conynghame, of Portlake, near Bolton, county of Lancashire."
"It is to that address that I am going myself," said Edward, smiling.
"Whether it is the party you refer to, you best know."
Chaloner burst out with a loud laugh.
"This is excellent! Two people meet, both bound on the same business,
both going to the same rendezvous, and for three days do not venture to
trust each other."
"The times require caution," replied Edward, as he replaced his letter.
"You are right," answered Chaloner, "and you are of my opinion. I know
now that you have both prudence and courage. The first quality has been
scarcer with us Cavaliers than the last; however, now, all reserve is
over, at least on my part."
"And on mine also," replied Edward. Chaloner then talked about the
chances of the war. He stated that King Charles's army was in a good
state of discipline, and well found in everything; that there were
hundreds in England who would join it, as soon as it had advanced far
enough into England; and that every thing wore a promising appearance.
"My father fell at the battle of Naseby, at the head of his retainers,"
said Chaloner, after a pause; "and they have contrived to fine the
property, so that it has dwindled from thousands down to hundreds.
Indeed, were it not for my good old aunts, who will leave me their
estates, and who now supply me liberally, I should be but a poor
gentleman."
"Your father fell at Naseby?" said Edward. "Were you there?"
"I was," replied Chaloner.
"My father also fell at Naseby," said Edward.
"Your father did?" replied Chaloner; "I do not recollect the
name--Armitage--he was not in command there, was he?" continued
Chaloner.
"Yes, he was," replied Edward.
"There was none of that name among the officers that I can recollect,
young sir," replied Chaloner, with an air of distrust. "Surely you have
been misinformed."
"I have spoken the truth," replied Edward; "and have now said so much
that I must, to remove your suspicion say more than perhaps I should
have done. My name is not Armitage, although I have been so called for
some time. You have set me the example of confidence, and I will follow
it. My father was Colonel Beverley, of Prince Rupert's troop."
Chaloner started with astonishment.
"I'm sure that what you say is true," at last said he; "for I was
thinking who it was that you reminded me of. You are the very picture
of your father. Although a boy at the time, I knew him well, Master
Beverley; a more gallant Cavalier never drew sword. Come, we must be
sworn friends in life and death, Beverley," continued Chaloner,
extending his hand, which was eagerly grasped by Edward, who then
confided to Chaloner the history of his life. When he had concluded,
Chaloner said,
"We all heard of the firing of Arnwood, and it is at this moment
believed that all the children perished. It is one of the tales of woe
that our nurses repeat to the children, and many a child has wept at
your supposed deaths. But tell me, now, had you not fallen in with me,
was it your intention to have joined the army under your assumed name
of Armitage?"
"I hardly know what I intended to do. I wanted a friend to advise me."
"And you have found one, Beverley. I owe my life to you, and I will
repay the debt as far as is in my power. You must not conceal your name
to your sovereign; the very name of Beverley is a passport, but the son
of Colonel Beverley will be indeed welcomed. Why, the very name will be
considered as a harbinger of good fortune. Your father was the best and
truest soldier that ever drew sword; and his memory stands unrivaled
for loyalty and devotion. We are near to the end of our journey; yonder
is the steeple of Bolton church. The old ladies will be out of their
wits when they find that they have a Beverley under their roof."
Edward was much delighted at this tribute paid to his father's memory;
and the tears more than once started into his eyes as Chaloner renewed
his praise.
Late in the evening they arrived at Portlake, a grand old mansion
situated in a park crowded with fine old timber. Chaloner was
recognized, as they rode up the avenue, by one of the keepers, who
hastened forward to announce his arrival; and the domestics had opened
the door for them before they arrived at it. In the hall they were met
by the old ladies, who expressed their delight at seeing their nephew,
as they had had great fear that something had happened to him.
"And something did very nearly happen to me," replied Chaloner, "had it
not been for the timely assistance of my friend here, who,
notwithstanding his Puritan attire, I hardly need tell you, is a
Cavalier devoted to the good cause, when I state that he is the son of
Colonel Beverley, who fell at Naseby with my good father."
"No one can be more welcome, then," replied the old ladies, who
extended their hands to Edward. They then went into a sitting-room, and
supper was ordered to be sent up immediately.
"Our horses will be well attended to, Edward," said Chaloner; "we need
not any longer look after them ourselves. And now, good aunts, have you
no letters for me?"
"Yes, there are several; but you had better eat first."
"Not so; let me have the letters; we can read them before supper, and
talk them over when at table."
One of the ladies produced the letters, which Chaloner, as he read
them, handed over to Edward for his perusal. They were from General
Middleton, and some other friends of Chaloner's who were with the army,
giving him information as to what was going on, and what their
prospects were supposed to be.
"You see that they have marched already," said Chaloner, "and I think
the plan is a good one, and it has put General Cromwell in an awkward
position. Our army is now between his and London, with three days'
march in advance. And we shall now be able to pick up our English
adherents, who can join us without risk, as we go along. It has been a
bold step, but a good one; and if they only continue as well as they
have begun, we shall succeed. The Parliamentary army is not equal to
ours in numbers, as it is; and we shall add to ours dayly. The king has
sent to the Isle of Man for the Earl of Derby, who is expected to join
to-morrow."
"And where is the army at this moment?" inquired Edward.
"They will be but a few miles from us to-night, their march is so
rapid; to-morrow we will join, if it pleases."
"Most willingly," replied Edward.
After an hour's more conversation, they were shown into their rooms,
and retired for the night.