THE CONSULTATION AT BARBOURNE BRIDGE, AND THE KING'S FLIGHT.
We left the king at Barbourne Bridge. By this time he had been joined
by the Earl of Derby, the Earl of Lauderdale, the Lords Talbot and
Wilmot, Colonel Roscarrock, Colonel Blague, Charles Giffard, and
many other Cavaliers, and a consultation was held as to what course
should be pursued. All were of opinion that the day was irretrievably
lost, and this opinion was confirmed by the arrival of Careless and
the others, who told how they had been worsted in the last desperate
struggle at the Guildhall.
"More than half of this brave battalion are gone," exclaimed Careless.
"The rest are dispersed, and will never be got together again. Such
frightful havoc has been made among the citizens, who have been slain
by hundreds by these ferocious Roundheads, that no more fighting men
can be got together. All is lost! Your majesty's standard has been torn
down everywhere, and replaced by the flag of the Commonwealth. From
this spot you may see their hateful standard floating on the cathedral
tower."
Overpowered by this ill news, Charles could make no reply.
"All we can now do for your majesty is to save you from these ravening
wolves and regicides," cried the Earl of Derby, "and that, with
Heaven's grace, we will do!"
"We will defend your majesty to the last," cried the Lords Talbot and
Wilmot, and several others.
"Alas! how many are gone!" exclaimed Charles. "Brave Sir John
Douglas dead--the Duke of Hamilton mortally wounded. Where is Lord
Sinclair?--where are others of my Scottish peers?--where is Sir James
Hamilton?--where is Sir Alexander Forbes?"
"Sir James Hamilton is killed, my liege," replied Careless. "Sir
Alexander Forbes is badly hurt--perhaps dead. Several of the Scottish
nobles have been taken prisoners in the city. But think not of
them--think of your own safety. What will you do?"
"Make all haste to London," replied the king. "By riding hard I shall
arrive there before tidings of the battle can be received."
"A good plan," cried Lord Wilmot. "Your majesty has many staunch
adherents in London."
"I like not the plan," cried the Duke of Buckingham. "If adopted, it
will end in your majesty's destruction. The moment your defeat is
known, your adherents will fall from you, and you will be at the mercy
of your enemies."
Almost all the others concurred with the duke in opinion, and were
strenuously opposed to the king's plan.
"Nay, then," he exclaimed, "there is nothing for it but Scotland. I
will go thither."
"Your majesty has decided right," observed Lesley.
"His approval is enough to make me change my mind," observed Charles,
withdrawing to a short distance with the Earl of Derby.
"Go not to London, my liege, I entreat you," said the earl. "'Tis the
most perilous and rash scheme you could adopt. You will have dangers
enough to encounter in whatever direction you proceed, but London is
most dangerous of all. That you will be quickly pursued, and a heavy
price set on your head, is certain, for Cromwell's victory will be
shorn of half its splendour if you escape him. In England your chance
is lost. It grieves me to say so, but I cannot hide the truth. You
cannot get another army together. To Scotland, I see, you like not to
return. The sole alternative, therefore, is an escape to France."
"That is what I desire," replied Charles. "But where can I embark?"
"At Bristol, my liege, it may be--but that must be for after
consideration. Conceal yourself for a time, and no safer hiding-place
can be found than Boscobel, where I myself took refuge."
At this moment Colonel Roscarrock came up.
"How say you, Roscarrock?" asked the king. "Think you I should be safe
at Boscobel?"
"I am sure of it, my liege," replied the other. "Strange your majesty
should put the question to me, seeing I was just about to counsel you
to take refuge there."
"You have already described the house to me," observed Charles. "But
can the occupants be trusted?"
"Perfectly," said the Earl of Derby. "Your majesty has no more faithful
subjects than the Penderels of Boscobel. Charles Giffard is here. Will
your majesty speak with him?"
"Not now," replied Charles. "I would not have it known that I am about
to seek a place of concealment, and were I to confer with Charles
Giffard just now, my design would be suspected. We have only one
traitor here--but I must guard against indiscretion. How far is it to
Boscobel?"
"Some six-and-twenty miles, my liege," replied Roscarrock. "Your
horse looks fresh, and will take you there in a few hours, if we are
not interrupted. We must go by Kidderminster and Stourbridge towards
Wolverhampton."
"Lord Talbot is well acquainted with the country, and will serve as
guide," observed the Earl of Derby. "He has a servant with him, who
knows the whole district, and will be very useful."
The king now signed to Careless, and taking him apart, informed him of
his design, but bade him say nothing about it, except to Lord Talbot,
Lord Wilmot, Colonel Lane, Charles Giffard, and a few others. Careless
entirely approved of the plan, for he was terribly alarmed for the
king's safety.
The word being now given that every one must shift for himself, Sir
Rowland Berkeley, Captain Hornyold, and several other county gentlemen
took leave of the king with such warm expressions of unwavering
devotion and loyalty as greatly touched his majesty. Lesley, with his
Scottish cavalry, took the direct road northward by Newport.
Escorted by some sixty Cavaliers, all well mounted and well armed, and
accompanied by the Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of Derby, the Earl of
Lauderdale, Lord Wilmot, Colonels Roscarrock, Lane, Blague, and Charles
Giffard, and of course attended by Careless, the king started on his
flight.
End of the First Book
Book the Second.
WHITE LADIES.
CHAPTER I.
HOW CROMWELL VISITED THE DYING DUKE OF HAMILTON AT THE COMMANDERY; AND
WHAT PASSED BETWEEN THEM.
On the morn after the battle, there was weeping and wailing in
Worcester, for those lying slaughtered in the houses and streets.
Everywhere heart-rending scenes occurred, but they excited no pity in
the breasts of the savage foe. Believing they had performed a work
of righteous vengeance, the stern sectaries felt no compunction for
what they had done. The city had been delivered to them. They had
plundered the houses, slain all who opposed them, committed every
possible atrocity, and were now searching for the malignants, who had
sought refuge in cellars and other secret places. Many prisoners of
importance were thus made. Among those placed under the custody of the
marshal-general, and subsequently sent to the Tower, were the Earls of
Cleveland, Rothes, and Kelly, with the Lords Sinclair and Grandison,
General Massey, and the valiant Pitscottie. Some were too severely
wounded to be moved. Sir James Hamilton, Sir Alexander Forbes, Sir John
Douglas, and General Montgomery were dangerously hurt--while the Duke
of Hamilton was lying at the Commandery, mortally wounded. Fanshawe,
the king's private secretary, was captured, and treated with especial
favour by Cromwell, who was desirous of winning him over, but he
rejected the Lord General's overtures. The mayor and the sheriff were
committed to custody and ordered to be tried at Chester. A vast number
of other prisoners were made, whom it is needless to particularise.
[Illustration: PLAN OF WORCESTER IN 1651.]
But Cromwell had lost his chief prize. For some hours it was
supposed--chiefly on Colonel James's representation--that the king was
concealed within the city, and every precaution was taken to prevent
his escape. But before morning assured intelligence was brought to
the Lord General that Charles Stuart had unquestionably fled towards
the north, accompanied by the Duke of Buckingham, the Earls of Derby
and Lauderdale, and several others, and that Leslie, with his Scottish
cavalry, had taken the same direction.
On receiving these tidings, Cromwell gave immediate orders that
Lilburn, Fleetwood, and Harrison, each with a regiment of horse,
should start in pursuit of the Royalist leaders. At the same time
he especially enjoined Colonel James to follow on Charles Stuart's
track, in case the Young Man should separate himself--as was not
unlikely--from his attendants.
A Proclamation was likewise issued, promising a reward of One
Thousand Pounds to any one who should discover the person of Charles
Stuart--while the penalty of high treason was declared against all
those who should harbour or conceal him. Copies of this Proclamation
were forthwith despatched by swift messengers to all towns near which
it was deemed likely the fugitive monarch would pass.
Colonel James, with a detachment of horse, started at once for
Stourport, while the three Republican generals, previously mentioned,
prepared to follow the retreating Scottish cavalry. The companies of
militia stationed at the various towns were ordered to keep strict
watch, and arrest all fugitive soldiers and malignants. Moreover, they
were enjoined to search the houses of all declared Royalists.
Several country gentlemen, resident in the neighbourhood of Worcester,
and suspected of taking part in the conflict, were arrested on the
night of the battle. Sir Rowland Berkeley had a narrow escape. On
taking leave of Charles at Barbourne Bridge, as previously related,
the brave Royalist turned towards his old mansion, Cotheridge, in
a very dejected frame of mind. Not merely was he anxious for the
king's safety, but for his own. He felt that his peril was materially
increased by the peculiar colour of the steed he had ridden throughout
the day.
However, a plan of avoiding the danger occurred to him. Fortunately, he
possessed a couple of piebald horses, and on arriving at Cotheridge he
sent the steed he had been riding to a distant farm, and had the other
piebald horse placed in the stable and covered with body-clothes. This
done, he withdrew to his chamber, and prepared to play the part of a
sick man.
Two hours later, Colonel Goff, with a detachment of dragoons, arrived
at the old mansion and demanded to see its owner. He was told by the
butler that Sir Rowland was extremely unwell and confined to his room,
but the answer did not satisfy him.
"Lead me to your master instantly," he said.
Attended by half a dozen dragoons, he then followed the butler
up-stairs, and on entering Sir Rowland's room found him in a loose
robe and slippers, and presenting the appearance of an invalid.
"What means this intrusion on my privacy?" demanded the baronet.
"You affect surprise at my appearance, Sir Rowland," rejoined Goff;
"but you can feel none. I arrest you as a traitor to the Commonwealth.
You took part in the battle to-day, and fought with the malignants."
"You are mistaken, general," was the reply. "I am far too unwell to
leave my room, and utterly unable to put on arms or sit a horse."
"Tut!" cried Goff, incredulously. "You were present in the fields near
Powick, and, later on, in the fight within the city. I myself beheld
you on both occasions--on a piebald horse."
"'Tis true I have a horse of that colour," replied Sir Rowland. "But
you will find him in the stable, and his freshness will prove that I
could not have ridden him as you state. Satisfy yourself, I pray you,
general. If it should appear that I have deceived you, treat me as you
list."
"Since you affirm this so roundly I will go see," observed Goff,
somewhat staggered. "But you must not stir from this chamber."
"I have not the power to leave it," said Sir Rowland, feigning extreme
debility.
Placing a guard at the door of the chamber, Goff then proceeded to the
stable, where he found a handsome charger, which, being stripped of
its covering, proved to be piebald in colour, and exactly resembled
the steed he had seen. The freshness of the horse showed that he could
not have been out during the day. Astounded at the sight, Goff made no
further inquiries, but returned without his prey. As a declared enemy
of the Commonwealth, however, Sir Rowland had subsequently to compound
for his estate by the payment of two thousand pounds.
We must now repair to the Commandery, whither, as already related, the
Duke of Hamilton was conveyed from the field of battle. His right leg
had been shattered by a slug shot, and the injury was so severe that
amputation of the limb was deemed absolutely necessary by the king's
chirurgeon, Kincaid, who was in attendance upon him; but the duke
would not submit to the operation. He had passed a night of almost
intolerable agony, and was lying on a couch in the room adjoining the
great hall.[7] His countenance was livid and distorted; and a cloak was
thrown over his lower limbs.
A word as to the dying hero. William, Duke of Hamilton, then in his
thirty-fifth year, had succeeded his elder brother, James, who was
beheaded for high treason in 1649. Of the large train of distinguished
personages who accompanied Charles in his march from Scotland, none was
more devoted to the royal cause--none more determinately hostile to the
rebellious Parliament--than the Duke of Hamilton. Though despairing
of success, the duke adhered firmly to the king to the last, and that
he was as brave as loyal was proved by the prodigies of valour he
performed on the battle-field at Worcester.
"The torture I endure is almost insupportable, Kincaid," he groaned. "I
could not suffer more from the rack."
"No anodyne will assuage the pain, my lord duke," replied the
chirurgeon. "As I have already represented to your grace, amputation of
the shattered limb is the sole means of saving your life."
"I would rather die than lose the limb," groaned the duke. "'Tis not
pain I dread, but disfigurement."
"The Lord General has signified his intention of sending his own
surgeon, Trappam, to attend your grace. You will hear what he has to
say."
"I will not suffer him to come near me," said the duke, sternly. "I
will accept no favour from the regicide Cromwell."
As he spoke, the door communicating with the great hall was opened, and
two persons came in. The foremost was Cromwell, the other was Trappam,
the chirurgeon. The Lord General was armed as he had been during the
battle, and wore a broad-leaved hat, which he did not remove. Marching
direct towards the couch on which the wounded man was stretched, he
regarded him fixedly for a few moments, and then said, in not unkindly
accents:
"I am sorry to find your grace so grievously hurt. But it may be that
the Lord will heal your wounds. Such aid as man can render will be
afforded by my own surgeon, Master Trappam. He is very skilful, and has
wrought many wondrous cures."
"I thank your excellency," rejoined the duke, raising himself, "but the
king's surgeon is in attendance upon me, and I lack no other aid."
"Let them consult together," said Cromwell, "I would fain save your
life, if I can."
"Wherefore save me?" observed the duke, sternly. "Would you bring me to
the block, as you brought the duke, my brother?"
"The duke, your brother, was justly condemned as a traitor to the
Commonwealth of England," rejoined Cromwell. "Perchance, your grace may
be pardoned. My intercession shall not be wanting if you are disposed
to agree to certain conditions."
"I know not what the conditions may be, but I reject them beforehand,"
rejoined the duke. "I will die as I have lived, a loyal subject of the
king, and an enemy of his enemies!"
"Charles Stuart is a proscribed fugitive," said Cromwell. "Hitherto
he has been king only in name; now he has not even the name of
king. My messengers are upon his track, and will assuredly find the
lurking-place wherein he hideth."
"They will fail to take him," rejoined the duke. "It is written that he
shall escape, and return to triumph."
"Where is it so written?" demanded Cromwell, scornfully.
"In the book of fate."
"You do not read the book aright, my lord duke. Were I to turn over its
leaves, I should soon light on one in which his death on the scaffold
is recorded."
"You will find no such record," rejoined the duke. "You have slain the
king, his father, but him you shall not slay. His destiny is not in
your hands."
"All things are in the Lord's hands," said Cromwell. "But would Heaven
have vouchsafed me this crowning mercy if it had not meant----"
"That you should be king!" interrupted the duke. "Not so. Be not
deceived. King you shall never be. Hitherto, the third of September has
been propitious to you, but another anniversary of that day shall come,
and it will prove fatal."
Exhausted by the effort he had made in uttering these words, he sank
backwards, and his countenance assumed the pallor of death.
Thinking he was gone, Cromwell called to the surgeons, who had retired
to discuss the duke's case.
"While you are conferring together, your patient has expired," he cried.
"'Tis but a momentary faintness, your excellency," said Trappam. "But
assuredly his grace will not live long, if he refuses to undergo the
operation."
"Then let him die," cried Cromwell, sternly. "He will 'scape the
scaffold." And without another word he quitted the room.
Continuing obstinate, the unfortunate Duke of Hamilton died of his
wounds. Though he begged to be buried with his ancestors, at Hamilton,
his dying wishes were disregarded, and he was interred before the high
altar in Worcester Cathedral.
It was long before the city recovered from the terrible punishment
inflicted upon it by the exasperated Republicans. There can be no
doubt that Cromwell entertained a strongly vindictive feeling towards
Worcester, for the constant attachment it had manifested towards
Charles I. and his son. To prevent the possibility of any further
rising, he levelled the fortifications with the ground, destroyed the
gates, and filled up the dykes. The work was done so effectually, that
not a vestige is left of Fort Royal, while only here and there can a
few remains of the old walls be discovered. Sidbury-gate is gone; so is
the Foregate--so are almost all the memorials of the Battle.
Treated like a conquered city, ravaged, partially destroyed, all its
wealthy inhabitants fined, many imprisoned as well as fined, some
hanged, it could not be expected that Worcester, elastic as it has ever
shown itself, should immediately rise again--nor did it recover until
the Restoration.
Then the city became prosperous once more, and it has prospered ever
since. If not so picturesque as of yore, it is much better built--at
least, we are willing to think so. Most of the old timber houses and
ancient edifices have disappeared--but the Commandery is left. The
noble cathedral is improved--both externally and internally. A very
respectable structure of Queen Anne's time occupies the site of the old
Guildhall. In short, it would be difficult to find in the whole realm a
city that can vie with Worcester in cheerfulness, prosperity, or beauty
of situation. Its inhabitants are as loyal as ever, and ready to fight
the old battles o'er again.
FLOREAT SEMPER FIDELIS CIVITAS.
CHAPTER II.
HOW THE FUGITIVE KING AND HIS COMPANIONS RODE FROM BARBOURNE BRIDGE TO
WHITE LADIES.
More painful feelings were never experienced by a monarch than were
those of Charles as he fled from Worcester on the evening of the
battle. All was lost. The crown he hoped to win was gone. His life was
in jeopardy, and after a vain attempt to escape, he might be placed in
the hands of his enemies.
The cavalcade, as already mentioned, numbered about sixty persons of
various ranks, but all devoted to the king, and prepared to defend
him to the last. But it was the determination of the leaders of the
party to avoid any needless encounter. Having quitted the high road to
Kidderminster, they were now speeding along the lanes skirting the left
bank of the Severn, under the guidance of Lord Talbot's servant, Yates,
and another man named Walker. Charles did not ride at the head of the
troop, but with the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of Derby brought
up the rear. None of his attendants attempted to disturb the profound
reverie into which the unfortunate king was plunged, and so engrossed
was he by painful thoughts, that he scarcely seemed conscious of their
presence.
It was a pleasant evening, and though the sun had already set behind
the Malvern Hills, the heavens were filled with rosy clouds, which were
reflected on the surface of the river. The troop passed by several
farm-houses, but the scared occupants only watched them at a distance.
Anxious glances were occasionally cast back by the fugitives to
ascertain whether they were pursued, but no enemy appeared in sight.
By degrees the calmness and beauty of the evening produced a soothing
effect on the king's troubled mind. What a contrast was offered between
the peaceful lanes through which he was now riding and the city
resounding with the din of arms, the roar of artillery, and frightful
cries.
Having passed Beveré Green, and dashed through the ford of the Salwarp,
at Hawford Mill, but without meeting interruption of any kind, they now
pursued the Ombersley-road for some distance, but turned off at the
Mitre Oak for Hartlebury, and halted at the Old Talbot Inn, where the
king drank a cup of sack, while his attendants refreshed themselves
with such liquors as they could procure.
Once more they were in motion, and a narrow by-road brought them to
Hartlebury-common, then of great extent and dangerous in places, but as
they could still see their way, they rode on without fear.
Nothing can be pleasanter, under certain circumstances, than a gallop
across a wild heath at the twilight hour; but when danger lurks on
every side, when the riders are flying for life--above all, when a
king's safety is at stake, the sensations are not quite so agreeable.
Deceived by the gathering gloom, the fugitives are apt to suspect that
the foe is lying in ambush for them, and to turn needlessly from their
course. This was the case with the flying troop. They avoided Stourport
because they fancied there was danger in that quarter, and shaped their
rapid course past the dismantled manor-house of Hartlebury, which
had been garrisoned by Charles I. during the Civil Wars. The ancient
mansion might have afforded them shelter for the night, but they did
not dare to stop there.
They were still on Hartlebury-common, and were soon close upon
Kidderminster, but did not deem it prudent to enter the town. Skirting
the valley in which it lies, and galloping past Hoobrook, they
proceeded by Chester-lane and Green Hill to Broadwaters. Thence up
Black Hill to Sion Hill. Next traversing the beautiful woody district
that now forms Lea Park, they descended a gentle acclivity that brought
them to the old bridge across the Stour.
Had there been light enough to distinguish it, a charming scene would
have been here presented to the king's gaze. But he crossed Hay Bridge
without looking at the beautifully winding river or at the precipitous
rocks on its opposite bank, well satisfied that there was no enemy
concealed amid the woods to dispute his passage.
By the time the troop reached Kinver Heath it had become quite dark,
and the guides declared it was impossible to cross the wild and boggy
waste at that hour.
Notwithstanding their representations, the king would have pushed on
at all hazards, but the Earl of Derby, Charles Giffard, and Careless,
who knew the heath, dissuaded him from his rash design. Lord Derby
thought there would be far less danger in passing through Stourbridge,
even if it should be occupied by militia, which was doubtful, than in
attempting to traverse a morass in which they were almost certain to be
engulfed.
"There are so many quagmires in Kinver Heath, that, even in daytime,
it is difficult to avoid them," observed the earl. "At night it is
impossible."
"I am entirely of his lordship's opinion," said Captain Giffard. "I
know Kinver Heath well, and I implore your majesty not to risk your
royal person upon it."
"Are you afraid to go with me?" asked Charles.
"'Tis my duty to prevent your majesty from rushing on certain
destruction."
"Nay, then, if the danger is really so great, we must proceed to
Stourbridge, despite the militia."
"The rascals will not be on the look-out for us, so we shall most
likely escape them," remarked Careless. "Besides, if we are slain, we
shall die like gentlemen. Any death is preferable to being stifled in a
quagmire."
"As the hour is late, I do not think the enemy will be on the alert,"
observed the Earl of Derby. "But no precaution must be neglected. In
the event of an attack, all of us who are near your majesty will speak
French, so that your presence may not be suspected."
"'Tis well," replied Charles. "You hear, my lords and gentlemen, we are
all to become Frenchmen when we reach Stourbridge."
The party then turned towards Stourton, and once more crossing the
Stour by the Stewponey Bridge, galloped on towards Stourbridge. When
within a quarter of a mile of the town they came to a halt, and
Careless and Captain Giffard were sent on to reconnoitre.
As Stourbridge at that time consisted only of one long street, it
was easy to ascertain whether any soldiers were on the watch, but
none could be discovered. The street was entirely deserted, all the
inhabitants having, apparently, retired to rest.
Perfectly satisfied with their inspection, Careless and Giffard
returned to the royal party, and informed his majesty that he might
proceed without fear. Charles did not question the information he had
received, but judging it safest to speed through the town, placed
himself at the head of the troop, and galloped along the street.
Roused by the clatter of the horses' hoofs, several of the inhabitants
rushed to the windows, and just caught sight of the flying cavalcade.
The Royalists, however, had not got far when a drum was loudly beaten
"to arms," showing that Careless and Giffard had been deceived. It
presently appeared that a company of militia was quartered at the
further end of the town, and their steeds being ready saddled and
bridled, the men mounted and formed as quickly as they could in the
street to check the fugitives.
But they did not succeed in their purpose. The king and his companions
drew their swords, and dashed upon them with such impetuosity that they
cut their way through the phalanx, and in another minute were out of
the town. These soldiers of the militia, not being so well-seasoned
as Cromwell's Ironclads, were staggered by the fierce and determined
assault of the Cavaliers, and did not attempt pursuit. Charles and his
party, therefore, galloped on as swiftly as they could for a mile or
so, when the king slackened his pace.
"Is there an inn hereabouts?" asked the king. "I am desperately
thirsty."
"My liege, there is a solitary hostel between Wordsley and
Kingswinford," replied Giffard. "But I know not what can be obtained at
it."
"A cup of cider or ale will serve my turn now," replied Charles.
"The White Horse is not so badly provided," remarked Careless. "Nat
Coulter, the host, can brew as good a pottle of sack as any man in
Staffordshire, but I doubt if he can supply us all--even with ale.
However, we shall see."
On reaching the White Horse the fugitive Royalists found much better
entertainment than might have been expected. Nat Coulter was in bed,
but he was soon roused from his slumbers, and with his wife and his two
sons set heartily to work to serve his unexpected guests. He had plenty
of ale and cider, with which the Cavaliers were perfectly content, but
only a single runlet of canary. However, this amply sufficed for the
king and the chief personages with him. As to provisions, they ran
rather short, Nat Coulter's larder not being very abundantly supplied,
but the hungry Royalists devoured all they could find. Though Nat and
his household were known to be loyal, Charles did not discover himself
to them, but spoke French, and was addressed in that language by his
attendants during his stay at the White Horse. Nat, however, being a
shrewd fellow, afterwards declared that he had recognised the king.
A consultation was held in the little parlour of the inn. On quitting
Barbourne Bridge, Charles, as we have already stated, had decided upon
seeking a refuge in Boscobel. He had not abandoned this design, though
during the nocturnal ride his plans had undergone some change. It was
now proposed that the king should proceed in the first instance to
White Ladies, another secluded house belonging to the Giffards, about
a mile distant from Boscobel, where arrangements could be made for his
majesty's safety, and where he could separate from his companions. Both
the Earl of Derby and Roscarrock agreed that this would be the best and
safest course to pursue, and it was decided upon by his majesty.
[Illustration: WHITE LADIES.]
Again mounting their steeds, which had been as well cared for in the
interim as circumstances permitted, they rode on at a quick pace,
tracking the woodlands in the neighbourhood of Himley, and obtaining
glimpses of the extensive lake. No furnaces at that time bursting from
the ground marred the sylvan beauty of the scene.
After passing Wombourn, the troop plunged into Brewood Forest, and
were soon buried in its depths. Guided through the intricacies of the
wood by Charles Giffard, who was now in his own domain, and knew every
roadway, they at last reached a little valley entirely surrounded by
timber, in the midst of which stood an old-fashioned black and white
timber mansion. Closely adjoining this ancient house, and almost
appearing to form part of it, were the ivy-clad ruins of a monastery.
Day was just breaking at the time, and the picture presented to the
king, and seen by the grey light of dawn, was inexpressibly striking.
"That is White Ladies, sire," said Charles Giffard. "There your majesty
will find shelter."
CHAPTER III.
THE PENDERELS.
In Brewood Forest, which was situated on the boundaries of Shropshire
and Staffordshire, and extended into both counties, two large
monasteries had existed--one being a Cistercian priory, and the other
Benedictine. It was from the ruined Cistercian priory, which had been
founded by Hubert Walter, Archbishop of Canterbury, in the time of
Richard Coeur-de-Lion, that the old mansion in which the fugitive king
was about to take shelter derived its name. The house dated back to the
period when the monastery was suppressed. It has now disappeared, but
the ruins of the priory are left, and consist of a massive wall and a
few circular-headed windows. A doorway, with a fine Norman arch, leads
to what was once the chapel, but is now a small place of sepulture.
Viewed in connexion with the old mansion, the ruins of the monastery
produced a singularly beautiful effect--the strangely-secluded
situation of the house adding to its charm. It seemed as though it
were hidden from a world of strife and care, and as if none of the
dire calamities of war, which those now gazing at it had so recently
experienced, could disturb it. Fain would the weary Cavaliers who gazed
at the peaceful old house have rested there. But rest, as they well
knew, was not for them. Their toilsome and perilous journey was not yet
over. With some of them the road they were about to take led to the
scaffold.
White Ladies and the monastic ruins adjoining it were surrounded by a
low wall, in the midst of which was an old gateway of the same date
as the house. Around, as we have said, on every side, were woods, and
it was these thick groves that gave to the place the peculiar air of
seclusion that characterised it.
Praying the king to allow him to go forward, Captain Giffard rode
towards the gateway, which was fastened, but he had not reached it,
when a tall stalwart individual, clad in a leathern doublet, and having
a woodman's knife stuck in his girdle, strode towards the garden
wall. Charles watched this sturdy fellow as he advanced, and was very
favourably impressed by his manly countenance.
The forester--for such he seemed--was armed with a wood-bill, which he
had snatched up on perceiving the troop, but being quickly reassured
on finding his young master with them, he flung down his weapon. After
exchanging a few words with him, Captain Giffard bade the forester open
the gate, and returned to the king.
"That's an honest fellow, I'll be sworn," observed Charles, "and as
brave as honest. He looked just now as if he would strike down the
first man who attempted to enter."
"And so he would, my liege, had we been rebels and Roundheads," replied
Giffard. "George Penderel has been a soldier, and served in your royal
father's army at Edgehill, where his brother, Tom Penderel, was killed.
He is now a woodward, as are all his brothers, except Humphrey, the
miller of Boscobel."
"If they are all like George, they must be a gallant set," remarked
Charles. "Are there many of them?"
"Five living," remarked Giffard. "And George is a fair sample of the
rest. They are all true men, stout of heart and strong of limb, as if
made of their native oak. Above all, they are loyal to the core. It
is to their care," he added, lowering his voice, "that I propose to
confide your majesty. Lord Derby and Colonel Roscarrock will give you
an assurance of their fidelity."
"They have already done so," replied Charles. "What ho! George
Penderel," he exclaimed.
Hearing himself called, the stalwart forester, who had been standing
near the open gate, instantly came forward, but on approaching the
king, he stopped and doffed his cap.
"You know me, I perceive, George," said the king.
"I have never set eyes on your majesty before," rejoined the forester,
"but I should know that royal countenance among a thousand."
"I hope some others who may chance to see me in these parts may not be
gifted with thy discernment, honest George," replied Charles. "You have
served the king, my father--now you must serve me."
"In the field, sire?" cried George, eagerly.
"Alack! my good fellow, I have no longer an army," remarked the king
sadly. "These are all the followers left me--and I must, perforce, part
with them."
"But I will never leave your majesty unless you bid me," rejoined
George.
"You have four brothers, ha?"
"All as trusty as myself. Your majesty will be safe with us. All the
wealth of the kingdom should not tempt us to betray you."
"Enough," replied the king, dismounting--his bridle being held by
George Penderel.
The principal personages composing the royal retinue dismounted at the
same time, and followed his majesty into the house. By the direction
of Captain Giffard all the horses were then taken into the interior of
the ruined monastery, with the exception of the king's steed, which was
brought by George Penderel into the hall.
A search was next instituted for provisions, and in this quest Careless
played a conspicuous part. Repairing to the kitchen, he there found
Dame Penderel and a servant-maid, and the fire being fortunately
lighted, he soon sent a large dish of fried eggs and bacon to the king,
which was greatly enjoyed by his majesty and the nobles with him. Nor
while he provided so well for the wants of others did the thoughtful
major neglect his own, but contrived to make a very hearty breakfast in
the kitchen. It must not be supposed that the rest of the troop, who
were now in the ruined priory chapel, fared so well. Bread, biscuits,
oat-cakes, and cheese were distributed among them, and they had plenty
of sack.
Meanwhile, Captain Giffard, who was all anxiety to make arrangements
for the king's safety, had sent for Richard Penderel--commonly known
as "Trusty Dick"--who dwelt at a cottage in the forest, called Hobbal
Grange. William Penderel, the eldest brother, who resided at Boscobel,
which was about a mile distant from White Ladies, had likewise been
sent for by the Earl of Derby.
Trusty Dick was first to arrive, and Charles was as well pleased with
his looks as he had been with those of the younger brother. William was
powerfully built, and quite as tall as George.
"His majesty has resolved to disguise himself, Dick," said Captain
Giffard. "What sort of attire ought he to put on?"
"If his majesty will condescend to wear a suit of my clothes," said
Richard Penderel, "I'll engage that not a rebel trooper among them all
will recognise him. My best jerkin, leather doublet and green trunk
hose, will just fit you, sire, and I haven't worn them more than once
or twice."
"The disguise will suit me exactly," cried Charles. "I will become
a Brewood forester like thyself. We are about the same height, as I
think, though thou hast the advantage of me in respect of bulk."
"Truly, I am somewhat clumsier than your majesty."
"Haste, and fetch the clothes, Dick, for I presume thou hast not got
them with thee," said Captain Giffard.
"One thing more is needful to complete the disguise," said Richard
Penderel. "I scarce like to mention it. Yet if it be neglected, all
else will be marred."
"What is the indispensable matter?" asked Charles.
"Your majesty must consent to part with your long locks," replied Dick.
"Oddsfish! I had not thought of that," exclaimed the king. "But I see
the necessity. Better lose my locks than my head. Go fetch the clothes."
Trusty Dick made a humble reverence and departed.
Not long afterwards, William Penderel of Boscobel made his appearance.
He was the most remarkable of this remarkable brotherhood. All were
tall--not one of them being under six feet in height--but William
towered above the others by a couple of inches.
Although gigantic in stature, he was well proportioned, and possessed
prodigious strength. His features were cast in a massive mould,
and though somewhat heavy, had the same honest expression that
characterised the whole family.
On entering the house he found Lord Derby in the hall, and its
appearance--filled as it was with Cavaliers, with the king's horse in
the midst of them--satisfied him that some great disaster had occurred.
"Your lordship is welcome back," he said, bowing reverently; "though
I own I would rather not have seen you again so soon. Rumours of a
terrible defeat at Worcester have reached us, I know not how."
"Ill news, they say, travels quickly," replied the earl, surprised;
"but this news must have travelled through the air, if it has reached
you before us, for we have ridden here direct from Worcester, and
almost without stoppage."
"Oh, my lord, messengers doubtless have galloped from post to post,
and so have gotten before you. But tell me, I pray you," he added,
anxiously, "is the king safe?"
"The king is here," replied the earl. "Come with me and you shall see
him."
So saying he opened the door of a parlour panelled with dark oak, and
fitted up with oak furniture. Charles was seated in the room, and Lord
Wilmot, Captain Giffard, and Careless were with him.
Without any prompting, the huge forester immediately prostrated himself
before the king, who gave him his hand to kiss.
"This is William Penderel, sire," observed the earl.
"I do not need the information," replied Charles. "I am right glad to
see thee, William. I have already seen two of thy brothers."
"Then your majesty has seen two of your loyal subjects," replied the
forester, rising. "We will defend you to the death."
"William Penderel," said the Earl of Derby, in a voice well calculated
to impress his hearer, "I know thy fidelity and worth, and have
answered for thee and for thy brothers to the king's majesty. A sacred
duty now devolves upon you, and take heed you perform it well. You will
have the care of the king. He is surrounded by enemies--cunning as
foxes in quest of prey. Beware of their wiles and stratagems. Open foes
may be guarded against--secret foes are most to be dreaded."
"I and my brothers will strive to guard his majesty against all foes,
open and secret," replied William Penderel; "and with Heaven's help I
doubt not we shall accomplish his deliverance."
"Help to conceal me--that is all I ask at present," said the king.
"We have more than one hiding-place at Boscobel," observed Penderel. "I
can conceal his lordship as well as your majesty."
"Mistake me not, William," said the Earl of Derby. "I shall not tax thy
services--nor will any other. Thou must look to the king alone."
"I understand your lordship," replied William Penderel; "and I promise
you that my sole care shall be bestowed upon his majesty. But let me
humbly counsel your lordship and those with you not to tarry here
too long. A troop of militia under command of Colonel Bloundel, is
quartered at Codsall, which is not more than three miles off, and as
soon as they receive news of the battle, they will assuredly search all
the houses hereabouts."
"Thou art right," replied the earl. "We must not remain here long."
At that moment the Duke of Buckingham and Roscarrock entered the room.
"We have news for your majesty," said the duke; "news of Leslie."
"What of the traitor?" cried Charles, frowning.
"He has rallied with the whole of his cavalry on the heath near Tonge
Castle," replied Buckingham. "A messenger has just arrived, saying that
he waits there to conduct your majesty to Scotland."
"What number of men has he with him?" asked Charles.
"About three thousand, sire, so the messenger affirms," replied
Roscarrock.
"Three thousand men might have turned the battle yesterday," said
Charles, bitterly. "Let those go with the traitor who list, I will
trust him no more. If he would not stand by me when I had an army at my
command, of a surety he will not stand by me now that I have none."
The tone in which the king spoke showed that his resolution was taken.
No one, therefore, attempted to dissuade him from his purpose.
"We must separate," he continued. "I shall seek safety in flight. Those
who have faith in Leslie, can join him. I will not attempt to influence
your decision. Retire, I pray you, and consult together."
All then left the room, with the exception of Careless, who remained
with the king.
CHAPTER IV.
HOW CHARLES WAS DISGUISED AS A WOODMAN.
"Must I, too, quit your majesty?" asked Careless.
"There is no help for it, Will," replied Charles. "My best chance of
escape--the sole chance, in fact--lies in being left to myself. I shall
be well served by these faithful Penderels."
"Of that you may rest assured, sire," said Careless. "Yet I still think
I may be of some service to your majesty. At any rate, I shall not quit
the neighbourhood of Brewood Forest, so that I may be readily found,
if wanted. I know the country as well as the Penderels themselves. So
unimportant a circumstance may easily have slipped from your majesty's
memory, and I must therefore remind you that I was born at Bromhall, in
Staffordshire, within three miles of White Ladies."
"Ah, I recollect!" cried Charles. "No wonder you are well acquainted
with the district."
"I have not seen Bromhall for years," pursued Careless, "and few
recollect me. Nevertheless, I can make myself at home there."
"Take my advice, and go not near the place," said Charles. "Of a
certainty you will be discovered by the rebel troopers from Codsall.
Since you are familiar with the forest, hide yourself within it, and
join me at Boscobel. But now for my disguise. No one but yourself shall
clip off my locks. Have you procured a pair of scissors from Dame
Penderel?"
"Here they are, sire," replied Careless, producing them.
"'Sdeath! they are like shears," exclaimed the king. "However, they
will do the work more quickly. Have you aught to throw over my
shoulders?"
"A towel borrowed from the good dame."
"That will do," replied Charles. "Now begin, and lose no time."
It required a desperate effort on Careless's part to commence, but in
a few minutes he had cut off the long black locks on which the young
monarch had justly prided himself.
"Have you done?" asked Charles.
"Be pleased to look at yourself in the glass, sire, and you will find
your hair cropped as close as that of a Puritan."
Charles groaned on remarking the frightful change wrought in his
personal appearance.
"Zounds! you have disfigured me most horribly," he cried.
"I have reluctantly obeyed your majesty's orders," replied Careless.
"Here are love-locks enow for twenty fair dames," he added.
"Unluckily, there is not a single fair dame on whom to bestow them. Bid
Dame Penderel burn them."
"Rather let me bid her keep them safely as a memorial for her
children," rejoined Careless.
"As you will," said the king. "Now help me to take off my ornaments."
"Little did I think I should ever have this sad duty to perform, sire,"
observed Careless, as he knelt down to remove the garter from the
king's knee.
"These are but badges of royalty, and can be easily replaced," said
Charles. "A kingdom is not so easily got back."
With his attendant's aid he then divested himself of the blue riband,
the George of diamonds, and all his ornaments.
"My watch has stopped," he remarked. "I have neglected to wind it up."
"It has been struck by a bullet," said Careless, examining it. "Look
how deeply the case is dinted, sire. This watch has saved your
majesty's life."
"Then I will bestow it on the best friend I have," said the king. "Wear
it for my sake, Will."
"I will wear it next my heart," was the fervent reply. "Your majesty
could not have bestowed upon me a more precious gift."
Just then Lord Wilmot, Colonel Roscarrock, Colonel Blague, and some
others came in, and almost started back on seeing how strangely the
king was metamorphosed.
"You see, gentlemen, to what a state I am reduced," he observed, with a
sad smile. "I must commit these ornaments to your custody," he added.
"I hope we shall soon be able to restore them to your majesty," said
Lord Wilmot, who received the George.
"What has been decided?" inquired Charles. "Do you all join Leslie?"
"The majority have so determined," replied Lord Wilmot. "But I shall
take another course. Perhaps I may attempt to reach London. I shall not
be far from your majesty," he added, in a low tone.
"What is to be done with your horse, my liege?" asked Colonel Lane.
"Have you any further occasion for him?"
"None whatever," replied Charles. "If the horse should be found here,
he might lead to my discovery."
"Then I will gladly take him, for my own steed is dead beaten,"
rejoined Colonel Lane.
The saddest moment was now at hand. The Duke of Buckingham, the Earl of
Derby, and the other nobles came in to take leave of the king.
Charles was profoundly affected, and the nobles were overpowered by
emotion. Very little was said by them, for their grief was too real
and too deep to find expression in words. Ceremony was laid aside, and
Charles embraced them all. With very gloomy forebodings they then left
the room--Lord Derby being the last to retire.
"I trust we shall soon meet again, my dear lord," said Charles, as he
stood beside him, with his arm upon the earl's shoulder.
"I do not think I shall ever behold your majesty again in this world,"
replied Lord Derby, in a melancholy tone. "I have a presentiment that I
am going to my doom."
"Then stay with me," said the king. "The hiding-places at Boscobel
belong of right to you. Proceed thither at once."
"Heaven forbid that I should endanger your majesty's safety by any
attempt to preserve myself," exclaimed the earl. "If I fall into the
hands of the enemy, I shall be cheered by the firm conviction that your
majesty will escape, and in the end will be restored to your kingdom.
That I shall live to see that happy day I doubt--nay, I am well assured
I shall not--but it will come nevertheless."
"Look forward to it, my lord--look forward to our next meeting!" cried
Charles.
"We shall meet in heaven, I trust, sire--not on earth," replied the
earl, solemnly. "I bid your majesty an eternal farewell."
Charles did not attempt to reply, for he was strongly impressed by the
earl's manner, and Lord Derby quitted the room.
The chivalrous but ill-fated peer's presentiments were unfortunately
realised. Immediately after taking leave of the king, as described,
all the nobles, with the exception of Lord Wilmot, who had engaged the
services of John Penderel, the second brother, quitted White Ladies,
taking with them the whole troop of Cavaliers, and proceeded, under the
guidance of Charles Giffard, to the heath near Tonge Castle, where they
expected to find Leslie and his cavalry. But the Scottish general was
gone, and was marching northwards, as they learnt, by way of Newport,
so they took the same direction.
They had not, however, ridden many miles when they were overtaken by
Lord Leviston and a few of the royal life guards who had fought at
Worcester. Lord Leviston and his handful of men were flying before a
strong detachment of horse, commanded by Colonel James, and on seeing
his lordship's danger, the Earl of Derby and the other nobles at once
faced about, and attacking the Roundheads with great fury, drove them
back. This success greatly raised their spirits, but it was quickly
followed by a reverse. Just beyond Newport, they were encountered by
Colonel Lilburn, while Colonel James, having received considerable
reinforcements, followed and attacked in the rear.
Leslie's cavalry was completely routed and dispersed. Lord Derby,
Lord Lauderdale, Lord Sinclair, and the faithless Scottish leader,
were captured, and conveyed first to Whitchurch, and next to Banbury
in Cheshire. Subsequently, the ill-fated Earl of Derby was removed
to Chester, and imprisoned in the castle, there to await his trial
for high treason. Charles Giffard was likewise taken prisoner at the
conflict near Newport, but contrived to escape at Banbury.
But we are anticipating the course of events, and must return to
the fugitive monarch at White Ladies. Careless had witnessed the
departure of the devoted band with feelings akin to self-reproach for
not going with them, when on returning to the house, he found Richard
Penderel with the suit of clothes intended for the king's disguise,
and immediately took them to his majesty. That nothing should be
wanting, Trusty Dick had brought a coarse shirt and a woodman's cap
with the garments, and in a few minutes Charles had taken off his rich
apparel, and put on the sturdy forester's habiliments. His buff coat
and broadsword-belt were replaced by a leathern doublet, and jerkin of
green cloth, while common country hose were drawn above his knees, and
heavy hob-nailed shoes had succeeded his riding-boots.
As soon as the change was effected, William and Richard Penderel were
introduced by Careless, and were astonished by the alteration in the
king's appearance. Both averred that his majesty looked just like one
of themselves, and would impose on the most suspicious rebel.
A clever mimic, Charles tried, and not unsuccessfully, to imitate
Trusty Dick's gait and manner. The elder Penderel could not repress
a smile as he regarded him. The sole objection urged by those who
scrutinised the newly-made forester's appearance was that his hands
were too white, but this was quickly remedied by a little charcoal
dust. His complexion was dark enough, being as brown as that of a gipsy.
"Your majesty must be careful not to answer if you are spoken to by
any of the common folk, since you have not the accent of the country,"
observed William Penderel.
"Fear nothing. I shall easily acquire it," replied Charles. "Is Lord
Wilmot gone?" he inquired.
"Ay, my liege," was the reply. "He left the house immediately after the
departure of the troop. My brother John went with him, and intended
to take him to Mr. Huntbach's house at Brinsford, where he will stay
till some other hiding-place can be found. Any message your majesty may
desire to send can be readily conveyed to him by John."
"And now, sire, since you are fully disguised," said Careless, "I
counsel you not to remain here a moment longer. 'Tis possible the house
may be surrounded, and then you will be unable to escape."
"Whither do you propose to take me?" asked Charles of the Penderels.
"It will be best that your majesty should remain in the forest during
the day, in case an immediate search should be made at Boscobel,"
replied William Penderel. "We will hide you in a thick part of the
wood, about half a mile hence, called Spring Coppice, where no one will
be likely to search for you."
"I know Spring Coppice well," said Careless. "If your majesty should
hear a whistle, you will understand it is a signal from me, and need
not be alarmed. Though unseen, I shall not be far off."
He then took leave of the king, and quitted the house.
No sooner was Charles gone than all traces of his visit were removed by
George Penderel and his wife.
His majesty's habiliments were carefully wrapped up and deposited in an
old chest, as were his feathered hat and boots, while his shorn locks
were preserved like relics.
CHAPTER V.
HOW CHARLES WAS CONCEALED IN SPRING COPPICE, AND HOW IT RAINED THERE,
AND NOWHERE ELSE IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD.
On quitting the house, Charles and his two stalwart attendants entered
the ruins of the old priory, where Trusty Dick, by the aid of the ivy,
climbed the massive wall, and looked around to satisfy himself that
all was secure. Not perceiving anything to occasion alarm, he soon
descended from his post of observation, and the party left the ruins
and entered the wood at the rear of the house.
Pursuing a roadway among the trees, they marched on at a quick pace. On
either side there was a good deal of fine timber, and several ancient
oaks caught the king's eye as he strode along. Presently they came upon
a broad clearing, where the underwood having been removed, only a few
scattered trees were left, and having crossed it, they penetrated a
wilderness of brambles and thorns, through which Charles could never
have made his way unassisted, and this rough barrier passed, they
reached a waste overgrown with short wood, which was cut at certain
seasons for fuel. This was Spring Coppice, and just beyond it were the
shady groves of Boscobel.
Though there were few large trees in Spring Coppice, there was a good
deal of tangled underwood, and a thick covert afforded an excellent
place of concealment. It was towards this spot that his guides now
led the king. While the covert was almost impenetrable to those
unacquainted with it, there was an outlet to the Boscobel woods, which
could be easily gained in case of need.
In the very heart of the covert, like the centre of a maze, there was
a small open space, free from underwood, and covered with a carpet of
smooth sward. Here it was proposed that the king should remain, while
his two guides undertook to act as scouts and sentinels, and warn him
of any danger. Having shown his majesty how to hide himself amid the
underwood, and how to gain the outlet into the adjoining thicket, they
left him, promising that one of them would return ere long.
Almost for the first time in his life, Charles was now completely
alone. Yesterday, at the same hour, he was a king, and had an army at
his command. Now he was dependent for his safety upon a few loyal
rustics. Not for a moment did he doubt their fidelity, or believe that
threats of punishment or offers of reward would induce them to betray
him. Yet accident might bring his enemies to his place of concealment.
In that case he was resolved to sell his life dearly, though the only
weapon he possessed was the woodman's knife in his girdle.
He strove to divert his melancholy thoughts and while away the time
by pacing round and round the little circular spot in which he was
enclosed. But he soon got tired of this enforced exercise, and threw
himself at full length on the sward. How he wished that Careless was
with him, or Lord Wilmot! To add to his discomfort, the morning, which
had been dark and dull, became still more gloomy; clouds gathered
overhead, and at length discharged themselves in a steady down-pour. He
sought shelter among the trees, but could not protect himself entirely
from the wet.
The rain continued--heavily, heavily.
Several hours passed, which seemed more wearisome, more dismal than any
hours the king had ever previously spent.
During the long and dreary interval no one came near him, nor did any
sounds reach his ear, except the ceaseless pattering of the rain upon
the leaves. Now and then he heard the rustle of a rabbit among the
underwood, the cry of a blackbird, or the challenge of a cock pheasant.
Nothing else. No whistle from Careless--no signal from the Penderels.
Having now no watch he could not tell how time was passing, but he
thought it much later than it really was. At last he heard sounds of
some one approaching, and a voice, which he easily recognised as that
of Richard Penderel, called out "A friend!"
Trusty Dick was accompanied by his sister, who was married to a woodman
named Yates, and the good wife carried a basket containing some
eatables and a bottle of sack, the sight of which greatly rejoiced
the king, who had become ravenously hungry. Trusty Dick had brought
with him a blanket, which he laid upon the ground beneath a tree, so
as to form a dry seat for his majesty, while Elizabeth Yates spread
the contents of her basket before him. Charles was so hungry that he
thought of nothing at first but satisfying his appetite, but after he
had consumed half a dozen hard-boiled eggs, a large piece of cold meat,
the best part of a loaf, and had well-nigh emptied the flask of sack,
he began to converse with Dame Yates.
Though built on the same large scale as her brothers, Elizabeth had
rather a comely countenance, and the good-humoured smile that lighted
it up as she watched the king's performances was exceedingly pleasant
to behold.
"Saints be praised!" she exclaimed; "it does one good to see your
majesty enjoy your humble meal."
"I never enjoyed aught so much," replied the king. "I have got a
forester's keen appetite. I thank thee for the blanket thou hast
brought me, Dick, but if I remain longer here I shall have rheumatism
in all my limbs."
"There is danger abroad," replied Dick. "A body of rebel troopers,
under the command of Colonel Bloundel, has been to White Ladies.
Colonel Bloundel declared you were concealed somewhere, and not only
searched the house, but the ruins of the old priory, and was greatly
enraged and disappointed when he failed to discover your majesty. He
then ordered a dozen of his men to search the forest and join him at
Boscobel, and I make no doubt they are there now. My brother William
has gone thither to see what they are about, and will bring your
majesty word. It is well you were concealed here."
"The saints have had your majesty in their guard!" exclaimed Elizabeth,
who, like all her brothers, was a devout Romanist. "A marvellous thing
has happened. Elsewhere it has been fine, but here, at Spring Coppice,
it has rained."
"It has rained heavily enough, as I can testify from experience," cried
Charles.
"But the rain prevented the rebels from searching this wood," observed
Dick. "I followed them unobserved, and undoubtedly they were coming
hither, but when they found it so wet they gave up the quest, and
proceeded to Boscobel."
"'Tis strange, indeed!" said Charles, gravely.
"I see Heaven's hand in it quite plainly!" ejaculated Elizabeth,
crossing herself devoutly; "and so will good Father Huddlestone."
"Father Huddlestone!" exclaimed Charles. "You will have to confess to
him."
"Ah! you need not fear him, sire," cried Elizabeth. "The good priest is
devoted to your majesty. He has taught us all to fear God and honour
the king."
"Father Huddlestone has made us what we are, sire," said Dick. "But we
must not tarry here longer. I will come again at night-fall."
"Not till then?" cried Charles. "Have you seen aught of Major Careless?"
"No, sire," replied Dick. "He has kept out of the way of the rebels.
And I must again caution your majesty not to stir forth till I return,
as some of the enemy may be lurking about."
By this time Elizabeth had packed up her basket, and the pair departed.
It was still raining steadily, but cheered by the hearty meal he had
made, the king did not heed the discomfort so much as he had previously
done. Wrapped in his blanket he couched beneath the trees, and soon
fell fast asleep, nor did he awake till he was roused by a voice, and
found Trusty Dick Penderel standing near him.
"What's the hour, Dick?" he demanded, yawning and stretching himself.
"It seems growing dusk. I have slept ever since you left me."
"In that case, your majesty must have slept for six or seven hours, for
it is now not far from eight o'clock," replied Dick. I trust you feel
refreshed."
"I feel equal to any amount of exertion," cried Charles, springing to
his feet. "But what news do you bring me?"
"Not very good, my liege," replied Dick. "You must not go to Boscobel.
Colonel Bloundel is still there."
"But I cannot pass the night here," cried Charles.
"I do not mean you should, my liege, I propose to take you to my
cottage, Hobbal Grange, where I will try to lodge you, in my humble
way."
"Hark ye, Dick, a plan has occurred to me while I have been here.
I will try to get into Wales, where I have many subjects of proved
loyalty. Once at Swansea, I can easily find means of embarking for
France. Can you guide me to any place where I may safely cross the
Severn?"
"At Madeley there is a bridge. It is about seven miles distant."
"Only seven miles!" exclaimed Charles. "Then I will go to Madeley
to-night after refreshing myself at thy cottage."
"As your majesty pleases. But I am sorry you mean to abandon Boscobel."
"I may go there yet," said Charles.
They then quitted the coppice and issued forth into the more open part
of the forest.
The rain had now ceased, and the clouds having entirely dispersed,
the night promised to be clear and starlight. They marched along
cautiously--halting ever and anon to listen for a sound--but heard
nothing to occasion them alarm. Not a trooper was to be seen--indeed,
they did not encounter a single individual on the way to Hobbal Grange.
CHAPTER VI.
HOW CHARLES SUPPED AT HOBBAL GRANGE, AND WHOM HE MET THERE.
Hobbal Grange, the farm-house tenanted by Richard Penderel, was
situated on a small green in the midst of the forest on the road
between White Ladies and Boscobel. Though described by its owner as
a cottage, it was a very comfortable abode. Richard Penderel was
married, and his wife, a buxom, good-looking woman, had brought him one
son, but he was from home at the time.
On reaching his dwelling, Trusty Dick opened the door, and ushered
the king into the house-place, as it was called--a spacious apartment
with a huge fireplace at one end, and furnished with a long oak
dining-table, a couple of benches, and some half-dozen chairs.
A good fire burning in the grate gave the room a very comfortable look.
The ceiling was low and whitewashed, as were the walls, and the rafters
were garnished with hams and sides of bacon, while nets contained
sundry oat-cakes. Dick's wife and their niece, Frances, the daughter of
William Penderel, a good-looking girl, who had just got into her teens,
were frying some collops of meat, as the forester entered with his
guest.
"Mary," cried Dick, winking at his wife, as he spoke, "this be Will
Jackson, whom I told thee I should bring wi' me to supper."
"Glad to see him, I'm sure," replied Mary, dropping a curtsy, which the
king returned with an awkward attempt at a clownish bow that provoked a
smile from young Frances Penderel.
"Master Jackson is going to Madeley," pursued Dick, "and being
unacquainted with the country, might get lost at night, so I have
promised to show him the way there after supper."
"Then he ben't going to sleep here?" observed Mary.
"No, my good dame, I thank you," said Charles. "To-night I shall sleep
at Madeley, and to-morrow cross the Severn. I want to get to the Welsh
coast as quickly as I can."
"Don't ask any more questions, Mary, but get supper ready," interposed
Dick.
"'Twill be ready in a trice," she replied. "Lay a clean cloth, Frances."
In a very few minutes a large dish of collops and a great bowl of
potatoes were placed on the table, and the king and his host sat down
to the meal, and were waited upon by Mary Penderel and her niece.
A jug of strong ale helped to wash down the viands. Charles rather
suspected from the good dame's manner that she was aware of his rank,
but he didn't trouble himself on the subject, but went on with his
supper.
An unexpected interruption, however, was offered to the meal. Some one
tried the door, and finding it fastened, knocked against it rather
authoritatively. Charles instantly laid down his knife and fork and
started to his feet.
"Go see who is there," said Dick to his wife. "But let no one in."
On this Mary went to the door, and in as firm a tone as she could
command, for she was a good deal frightened, asked who knocked.
"'Tis I! Don't you know me, Mary?" cried a familiar voice.
"Blessed Virgin!" she exclaimed. "'Tis Father Huddlestone himself!"
"Your majesty may go on quietly with your supper," whispered Dick to
the king. "As I have told you, the holy man may be trusted. Open the
door, dame."
Mary instantly complied, and a middle-aged and rather stout personage
entered the room. His close-fitting cassock of black stuff was covered
by a long black gown. His appearance was far from ascetic, his
face being round, rosy, and good-humoured in expression, while his
scrupulously shaved cheeks showed marks of a very black beard.
Father Huddlestone was priest to Mr. Whitgreave, of Moseley Hall, in
the neighbourhood of Wolverhampton, and resided with that gentleman,
who was a well-known Royalist.
"Heaven's blessings on this house and on all within it!" exclaimed the
priest as he came in. "I do not blame you for keeping your door bolted
during these troublous times, good daughter. An enemy might slip in
unawares. You have a guest already, I perceive," he continued, glancing
at Charles. "I have brought you two more. Nay, do not start, my good
woman. No danger need be apprehended from one of your own sex."
"What is this I hear, father," cried Dick, getting up from the table,
and stepping towards him. "You have brought some one with you, you say?"
"Here she is," replied Father Huddlestone. "Pray come in, fair
mistress."
On this invitation, a young lady in a riding-dress entered the house,
followed by a slim, good-looking page.
In the young lady, Charles recognised Jane Lane at a glance. As to her
attendant, he almost fancied, from the slightness of the figure, it
must be a female in disguise.
"Methought you said there was only a lady, good father?" cried Dick.
"This page counts for nothing," rejoined the priest. "The lady is
Mistress Jane Lane, of Bentley Hall. I have promised her an asylum here
for the night, and I am sure you will afford it her."
"There may be reasons why I should not remain here," said Jane,
perceiving the king. "I will go on with you to Moseley Hall, good
father."
"There can be nothing to prevent you from staying here, so far as I
am concerned, fair mistress," observed Charles, who had risen from
the table, but stood apart. "I am about to proceed on my journey
immediately."
"Are you quite sure you had so decided before my arrival?" asked Jane.
"Quite sure," he replied. "Richard Penderel will tell you so."
"Who is this young man, Mary?" asked Father Huddlestone, looking very
hard at the king. "He hath the dress of a woodward, but neither the
look nor the manner of one."
"I will tell your reverence some other time," she replied, evasively.
"Perhaps your reverence can prevail on Mistress Jane Lane to sit down
with us and share our supper," said Charles to Father Huddlestone.
"I shall need no entreaty, for in truth I am very hungry," replied
Jane, taking a place at the table, while the priest sat down beside her.
"How are you named, good youth?" asked Charles of the supposed page.
"Jasper," was the reply.
"Then come and sit down by me, Jasper," said the king.
"Shall I, madam?" inquired the page of his mistress, who signified her
assent, and the so-called Jasper took a place by the king.
Fortunately, Mary Penderel had made such bountiful provision that there
was plenty for the new-comers.
"No accident, I hope, has happened to your mistress, young sir?"
observed Charles to the page.
"We were on our way from Wolverhampton to Bentley Hall, when we were
attacked by a patrol of rebels in the forest, who were in search for
the king," replied Jasper. "They did us no injury, but took our horses."
"How came it that you did not defend your mistress better?" asked
Charles.
"How could I defend her against half a dozen armed men?" cried the
page. "If I had had a pistol, I would have shot the first Roundhead
rascal who came up through the head."
"Rather through the heart, I should say," remarked the king, with a
smile.
"Heaven preserve his majesty, and deliver him from his enemies!"
exclaimed Father Huddlestone. "May their devices be confounded."
"Amen!" ejaculated Jane Lane, fervently. "Could I communicate with his
majesty, I would counsel him to embark for France as speedily as may
be."
"Such, I doubt not, is his design," remarked the priest. "But there is
danger on every side," he added in a significant tone, and looking at
the king as he spoke.
"I have heard no particulars of the battle of Worcester," observed
Jasper. "His majesty has escaped, I know, but I would fain learn that
his aide-de-camp, Major Careless, is safe."
"Rest easy on that score, Jasper," said the king. "I saw Major Careless
this morning."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the page, unable to repress his emotion. "Oh, I am
so glad. You have taken a great weight from my breast."
"You appear greatly interested in Major Careless," remarked Charles.
"Have you known him long?"
"Only since his majesty arrived in Worcester. I hope I shall see him
again."
"Have you any message for him, in case I should meet him?" whispered
Charles.
"None," replied the page, in the same tone. "But he will remember the
house in Angel-lane."
"Ah! then you are----"
The page imposed silence by a look.
Just then Richard Penderel arose, and glanced significantly at Charles,
who at once took the hint, and rose likewise.
"Don't let me disturb the company," said Dick. "But Master Jackson and
I have a long walk before us, and must be moving."
"Quite right, my son," replied the priest. "But I should like to say a
word to Master Jackson before he sets forth."
Taking Charles aside, he said to him in a low earnest tone: "I will not
waste time in professions of loyalty and devotion, nor can I be of any
present use to your majesty. Whatever your plans may be, I trust Heaven
will prosper them, but should it be necessary for you to seek a place
of concealment, you will be safe with my worthy friend and patron, Mr.
Whitgreave, of Moseley Hall. Richard Penderel will guide you thither."
"Should occasion require it, I will take refuge in Mr. Whitgreave's
house," replied Charles.
"Your majesty will be pleased to learn that Lord Wilmot is now at
Moseley," pursued Father Huddlestone.
"I am glad to hear it," replied Charles. "Should he not hear from me in
two or three days, he may conclude I have escaped to France. And now
give me your blessing, father."
While preferring this request he bowed his head, and the good priest
gave him his benediction.
As the king passed her, Jane Lane fixed a meaning look upon him, and
said in a low tone: "At Bentley Hall your majesty will find a safe
place of refuge, should you require it."
A hasty adieu sufficed for the page, and with a warm expression of
thanks to Mary Penderel, Charles quitted the house with her husband.
CHAPTER VII.
HOW CHARLES AND TRUSTY DICK WERE FRIGHTENED BY THE MILLER OF EVELITH.
The night was so dark, that without a guide it would have been utterly
impossible for the king to find his way through the forest. Trusty
Dick, however, experienced no difficulty, but marched along through the
trees at a quick pace, and Charles kept close beside him. The crackling
of sticks and small branches which they crushed beneath their feet
as they proceeded, and the rustling of fallen leaves, betrayed their
course, but they did not talk much, lest they should be overheard by
a patrol of the enemy. Now and then they paused to listen, and on one
occasion, fancying he heard the sound of horses' feet in the distance,
Dick immediately struck into another path; but he did not stray far
from the direct course.
At this hour there was something mysterious in the gloom of the forest,
that acted very powerfully on the king's imagination, and led him to
fancy that he discerned strange figures among the trees. But Richard
Penderel, to whom he communicated his apprehensions, treated them very
lightly.
"Your majesty needn't be alarmed," he said. "The forms you behold are
merely trunks of old trees, or projecting boughs. They have a weird
look at this time, and I myself have been scared by 'em."
At length they emerged from the forest, and got upon a wide
common--greatly to the king's relief, for he had begun to feel
oppressed by the gloom. The fresh air, so different from the damp
atmosphere he had just been inhaling, laden with the scent of decaying
leaves and timber, produced an exhilarating effect upon him, and he
strode along vigorously.
While crossing the common, they descried a patrol of horse apparently
proceeding in the direction of White Ladies or Boscobel, but they
easily avoided them, and quitting the common, they soon afterwards
mounted a steep hill, on the other side of which was a brook that
turned a water-mill. As they drew near the mill, the sound of voices
brought them to a halt. The hour being now late, it was singular that
any persons should be astir, and Trusty Dick, naturally alarmed by the
circumstance, at first thought of turning back. But to do so would have
taken him and his companion considerably out of their course, and he
therefore hesitated.
"This is Evelith Mill," he observed in a low voice to Charles,
"Roger Bushell, the miller, is a cross-grained fellow, and I think a
Roundhead, so I shouldn't like to trust him."
"'Tis safer not," replied the king. "How far are we from Madeley?"
"About two miles," replied Dick. "But if we were obliged to turn back
it will add another mile, at least, to the distance."
"Then let us go on," said the king.
So they waited quietly for a few minutes, when the light disappeared,
and the voices became hushed.
"Roger Bushell has gone to bed at last," observed Charles. "We may
proceed on our way."
So they marched on without fear. But the king was wrong, in his
supposition, for as they passed the mill a gruff voice called out, "Who
goes there?"
"'Tis the miller himself," whispered Dick.
"Well, answer him," said Charles.
Again the challenge was repeated, and more authoritatively than before,
"Who are you? Speak!"
"Friends," replied Dick."
"I know you not," cried the sturdy miller. "If you be friends, stand
and give an account of yourselves, or sure as I'm an honest man, and
you are a couple of rogues, I'll knock you down."
And he brandished a stout staff as he spoke.
"What shall we do?" asked Charles.
"Beat a retreat," replied Dick. "It won't do to be stopped here."
And as the miller rushed forth to seize them they hurried off; and
ascended another hill, never stopping till they were quite out of
breath.
"This is a most disgraceful retreat, I must say, Dick," observed
Charles.
"I should like to have knocked the dust out of Roger Bushell's jerkin,"
rejoined Dick. "But I am certain he has got some rebels with him, or he
would not have dared to act thus."
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW THE KING WAS RECEIVED BY MR. FRANCIS WOOLFE AT MADELEY COURT.
It was past midnight when Charles approached Madeley, an ancient moated
mansion, built of stone, and very pleasantly situated on the borders
of the Severn. It belonged to Mr. Francis Woolfe, an old Cavalier,
and father of the gallant Captain Woolfe, who figured at an earlier
period of this history. As the hour was late, Mr. Woolfe and his
family, with the whole of his household, had long since retired to
rest, but they were disturbed by a loud knocking at the door, which
continued with very little intermission until the old gentleman got up,
and, accompanied by his butler, went to see what was the matter. On
opening the door he found Richard Penderel, who was well known to him,
and without giving the forester time to explain his errand, eagerly
inquired whether he brought any tidings of Captain Woolfe.
"I know my son was present at the battle of Worcester," cried the old
Cavalier; "and I fear he may be wounded, as I have not heard of him
since."
"I am sorry I cannot relieve your honour's anxiety respecting your
son," replied Dick. "But well knowing how staunch a Royalist you are,
I am come to beg you to hide a fugitive Cavalier, who fought, like
Captain Woolfe, at Worcester."
"Don't ask me to do it, Dick!--don't ask me!--I dare not harbour a
Royalist!" cried Mr. Woolfe. "Willingly--right willingly would I do
so, but there is too much hazard in it. I am already suspected by the
rebels--there is a company of militia at Madeley, guarding the bridge
and the river--and were they to search my house and find a fugitive
Royalist concealed within it I should be most heavily fined--perhaps
imprisoned--perhaps put to death! No, Dick, I will not run this risk
for any one, except the king himself."
"Then what will your honour say when I tell you that he whom I ask you
to shelter from his enemies is the king? The loyal Mr. Francis Woolfe,
I am well assured, will never refuse his sovereign an asylum."
"You are right, my good fellow--you are right," cried the old Cavalier,
trembling. "I never supposed it was the king. Why did you not tell me
so at first?"
"Because his majesty forbade me," rejoined Dick. "I have disobeyed his
orders."
"But he might have trusted me," cried Mr. Woolfe. "I would lay down my
life for him. Where is his majesty?"
"On the other side of the moat standing beneath yon great elm-tree,"
said Dick.
The old Cavalier required no more, but hastily crossing the bridge,
proceeded to the spot indicated, followed by his butler and Richard
Penderel.
Seeing him advance Charles came forward, and as they met old Mr. Woolfe
threw himself on his knee, while Charles, finding himself discovered,
gave him his hand to kiss.
"Sire," cried the old Cavalier, "I never thought to see you at Madeley
under such sad circumstances. My house and all within it are yours.
Enter, I pray you."
And with as much ceremony as if Charles had been a conqueror instead
of a fugitive, he conducted him across the bridge and ushered him into
the mansion. For a few minutes he detained his majesty in the hall
while the dining-room was lighted up, and when all was ready he led him
thither.
To his infinite surprise Charles found an excellent repast awaiting
him, and he was served at it by his host and the butler. Seated in this
large comfortable room, treated with so much ceremony, and supplied
with some of the finest claret he had ever tasted, for a brief space he
almost forgot his misfortunes.
However, he would not yield to false security, and after emptying his
goblet he questioned Mr. Woolfe as to the possibility of crossing the
Severn.
The old Cavalier shook his head dolefully. It was utterly impossible,
the bridge being guarded by the militia, and all the boats seized. His
majesty must be content to stay at Madeley. Mr. Woolfe did not like to
make such a suggestion, but as he had no safe hiding-places, and as a
search might be made by the rebels at any moment, he would venture to
propose that his majesty should sleep----
"I do not require a state-bed," interrupted Charles. "I am so
thoroughly tired that I can sleep soundly anywhere."
"Then I have the less hesitation in proposing that your majesty should
sleep in the barn," said the ceremonious old Cavalier. "You will be far
safer there than in the house."
"And just as comfortable I make no doubt," said the king.
"I can answer for your majesty's safety there, which I cannot do here,"
said Mr. Woolfe. "It is just possible that some of the officers of the
militia rebels might quarter in the house, as they have done before. In
the barn your majesty would not be liable to a surprise. I will keep
all my people away from it."
"I see--I see," cried the king, rising from the table, and heaving a
sigh as he gazed round the old oak room, with its dark wainscots and
portraits. "Take me to the barn."
Nothing but the sense that he was performing a great duty could have
compelled the formal old Cavalier to act as he did, but he well
knew how much was at stake. Doing great violence, therefore, to his
feelings, he took the king to a barn adjoining the mansion, where his
majesty found a very comfortable couch in a hay-mow.
Richard Penderel slept in the barn. Very fortunate was it that the
king did not stay in the house, as it was visited by a patrol of horse
before daybreak. The soldiers instituted a rigorous search, but finding
nothing to excite their suspicion departed.
Charles slept soundly in the hay-mow, and the day was far advanced
before Trusty Dick thought proper to disturb him. As there was no
chance of crossing the Severn, and considerable risk even in stirring
forth, the king did not leave the barn. Breakfast was brought
by Dick, and while the king was discussing it in an out-of-the-way
corner, he heard the barn-door open, and felt sure from the sounds that
followed that more than one person had come in. His alarm, however, was
instantly dispelled on hearing Mr. Woolfe's voice, and he immediately
left his retreat to meet the old Cavalier. With Mr. Woolfe was a much
younger individual, on beholding whom his majesty uttered a joyous
exclamation.
"Do my eyes deceive me?" he cried. "Can it be Captain Woolfe?"
"Yes; 'tis my dear son, sire," replied the old Cavalier. "He has only
just arrived, but on learning you were here, nothing would content him
but I must bring him at once to your majesty."
"I am delighted to see him," said Charles. "I owe my preservation
to him. Without Captain Woolfe's aid, I might not have escaped from
Worcester."
And as he spoke he extended his hand to the young man, who pressed it
fervently to his lips.
"It grieves me to find your majesty here," said Captain Woolfe. "I did
not dare to return to Madeley last night, but tarried at Evelith Mill
with honest Roger Bushell. Even there we were alarmed about midnight
by a couple of Roundhead spies, but the sturdy miller frightened them
away."
"Soh! you were at Evelith Mill last night?" cried Charles, laughing.
"I was not the only Royalist there, my liege," replied Captain Woolfe.
"With me were Major Careless and Lieutenant Vosper."
"Then learn that the two Roundhead spies whom the miller drove away
were myself and Trusty Dick Penderel," said the king, still laughing.
"'Tis odd I should be put to flight by my friends. But where is Major
Careless? Is he hereabouts?"
"No, my liege, he has gone towards Boscobel, where he fancies your
majesty is hiding."
"And where I shall be forced to hide after all, since it appears
impossible to escape into Wales," said the king.
"I must again implore your majesty not to make the attempt," cried the
old Cavalier. "It would be attended with too much hazard. Your security
must be the first consideration, and though I esteem it the highest
honour to have the care of your majesty, I feel you will be safer at
Boscobel."
"I will go thither to-night," said Charles.
"'Twill be the best course to pursue, my liege," observed Captain
Woolfe. "Some plan for your escape can be devised. We shall all be
ready to lend you aid."
Soon after this the old Cavalier returned to the house, but his son
remained in the barn to bear the king company. Though Captain Woolfe
was an agreeable companion, and did his best to amuse the king, Charles
was very glad when night came on, so that he could shift his quarters
with safety. He supped with the old Cavalier and his son, and passed so
pleasant an hour with them that he was quite loth to take his departure.
It was not far from midnight when Charles took leave of Mr. Woolfe
and his son. At that moment the old Cavalier almost repented that he
allowed the king to depart, and made an effort to detain him till the
morrow, but Captain Woolfe thought it best that his majesty should
adhere to his plan. Father and son conducted him across the moat, and
attended him to the outer gate, and Charles having taken leave of them
there, set out on his journey with his faithful guide. Fortunately,
their nocturnal walk was unattended by any danger, and the only
annoyance they experienced was caused by having to wade across the
brook that turned Evelith Mill, but this was a trifling matter, which
gave the king no concern whatever.
In less than two hours, as well as they could reckon, for neither of
them had a watch, they reached Boscobel Wood; but before entering it
Dick deemed it prudent to call at the cottage of his brother John,
which was close at hand, and ascertain from him that all was safe.
[Illustration: BOSCOBEL HOUSE.]
Accordingly they proceeded thither, and Dick knocked against the door
with his staff. An upper window was quickly opened by John Penderel,
and seeing who they were, he descended and let them in. His first
business was to strike a light, and as he did so the king discovered a
Cavalier--for such his attire proclaimed him--fast asleep in a chair.
"A stranger here!" exclaimed Dick, surprised. "Why didn't you tell us
so, John?"
"The gentleman is no stranger to his majesty," replied the other.
Just then, the Cavalier, aroused by the light and the voices, sprang to
his feet, and the king perceived it was Major Careless. The unexpected
meeting was extremely agreeable to both.
"I heard your majesty was gone to Madeley," said Careless, after a
cordial greeting had taken place between him and the king; "but I felt
sure you would never be able to cross the Severn, and I therefore
thought it likely you would come to Boscobel. I myself got as far as
Evelith Mill, but returned yester morning."
"Is all safe here?" asked the king.
"No, my liege, very much the reverse I am sorry to say," replied
Careless. "Patrols of the enemy are constantly searching the woods
and visiting all the habitations around. I had several narrow escapes
yesterday, and but for honest John Penderel here should infallibly have
been captured."
"I am just as much indebted to Trusty Dick," said Charles. "Without
him, I should not be here now."
"There are five of us on whom your majesty can rely," said John, who
was just as stalwart and as honest-looking as his brothers. "If we had
not been loyal, Father Huddlestone would have made us so. Last night,
the good priest went to talk to our brother Humphrey, the miller of
Boscobel."
"I will now put your loyalty to the test, John," said the king.
"Your majesty cannot please me better," was the reply.
"Go then to Boscobel House, and satisfy yourself that I may safely
proceed thither."
"It shall be done, my liege," rejoined John Penderel, evidently
well-pleased by the order. "As soon as I have put on my doublet, I will
set forth."
"The office is mine, by rights," observed Trusty Dick. "Nevertheless, I
willingly resign it to John."
"Judging by myself, thou hast need of rest, my faithful fellow," said
Charles, kindly. "I would fain spare thee further trouble."
John Penderel vanished, but in a minute or two reappeared, fully
equipped, and grasping a stout staff, sallied forth.
It was now about three o'clock in the morning, and feeling much
fatigued with his walk, and uncertain as to the rest he might obtain,
Charles threw himself into the arm-chair lately occupied by Major
Careless, and almost instantly fell asleep.
Careless found another seat and followed his majesty's example, while
Trusty Dick having carefully barred the door, sat down on a settle, and
fell into a sort of doze, during which he dreamed he was fighting half
a dozen Roundheads.
More than an hour elapsed before John Penderel returned. All the
sleepers were roused by his knock at the door. He had seen a patrol of
rebels in the wood, but they were coming from Boscobel--not proceeding
thither--and he easily avoided them and went on to the house. There he
saw Brother William, who told him they had got rid of all the rebels,
so his majesty might come there without fear.
On receiving this satisfactory intelligence, Charles, being most
anxious to obtain a secure asylum, set forth at once. He was
accompanied by Careless, and guided and guarded by the two stalwart
brothers, who would have sold their lives rather than allow him to be
captured. They made their way through the depths of the wood by paths
only known to the two foresters, and encountered nothing more dangerous
than a squirrel or a thrush.
After half an hour's walk through the wood, they came upon a lawn
studded by trees, among which were several ancient oaks. Day was just
breaking, and now that they had got out of the dense wood, the sun
burst upon them. At the further end of the lawn, Charles perceived an
old mansion, with walls chequered black and white, gables, bay windows
with lattice-panes, and an immense chimney-stack projecting from the
side. He did not require to be told that it was Boscobel House.
How quiet, how sequestered, how beautiful looked the old structure at
that early hour! Charles stood still to gaze at it. No place had ever
had the like effect upon him.
While he was still gazing at the picturesque old mansion, and noting
the huge chimney-stack we have mentioned, a gigantic figure issued from
the garden gate.
It was William Penderel, who having descried the party from an upper
window, had come forth to bid his majesty welcome and usher him into
Boscobel House.
End of Book the Second.
[Illustration: ROOM AT BOSCOBEL HOUSE.]
Book the Third.
THE ROYAL OAK.
CHAPTER I.
SHOWING HOW THE HUNTING-LODGE WAS BUILT BY THE LORD OF CHILLINGTON, AND
HOW IT ACQUIRED ITS NAME.
Towards the latter part of Elizabeth's reign, when those who professed
the tenets of the Church of Rome were prevented by heavy penalties from
performing the rites of their religion, while such as refused to take
the oath of supremacy were held guilty of high treason, John Giffard,
eleventh Lord of Chillington, in Staffordshire, himself a strict Roman
Catholic, and a great sufferer from the oppressive measures referred
to, determined to provide a safe asylum for recusants in a secluded
part of his domains; and with this view he built a hunting-lodge in the
depths of Brewood Forest, which then belonged to him, and contrived
within the lonesome structure several secret hiding-places.
The situation was remarkably well chosen. Buried in a wood, where
it was hardly likely to be discovered, the hunting-lodge was placed
on the exact boundary line between Shropshire and Staffordshire, so
that it was difficult to say in which county it stood. The whole
surrounding district was covered with woods and commons--the nearest
habitations being the ruined monasteries of White Ladies and Black
Ladies. Several large trees had been removed to make way for the lodge
and the outbuildings connected with it, but it was screened by majestic
oaks, which grew within a few yards of the gates. Through these trees
enchanting views could be obtained of the sylvan scenery beyond,
of vale and upland, and purple heath, until the vast prospect was
terminated by the picturesque Clee Hills and the blue outline of the
Wrekin.
Nothing, however, save forest timber could be discerned in the
immediate vicinity of the lodge, and from this circumstance it obtained
its designation. On the completion of the building, the Squire of
Chillington invited some of his friends to the house-warming. Among
them was Sir Basil Brooke, then newly returned from Rome.
"How shall I name the place?" asked John Giffard.
"I will give you a charming and appropriate name for it," replied Sir
Basil. "Call it Boscobel--from the Italian Bosco bello--Fair Wood."
The suggestion was adopted, and BOSCOBEL it became.
The solitary forest lodge answered its double purpose well. Its real
object was not suspected, nor were its hiding-places discovered, though
often resorted to by recusants during the reigns of Elizabeth and
James I. Hunting and hawking-parties were sometimes assembled at the
lodge by the Squire of Chillington to keep up appearances, but on such
occasions due precautions were always taken for the security of those
hidden within the house. No servants were employed except those on
whose fidelity entire reliance could be placed--and who were themselves
Romanists. Of the numbers of persecuted priests harboured at Boscobel
none were ever betrayed. Nor during the Civil Wars was a fugitive
Cavalier ever refused shelter.
A staunch Royalist as well as zealous Romanist, Peter Giffard, grandson
of the builder of Boscobel, suffered severely for his adherence to the
cause of the unfortunate Charles I. His noble ancestral domains were
confiscated, and he himself was imprisoned at Stafford. Not till the
Restoration did the loyal family recover their estates.
At the time of our history Chillington was almost entirely abandoned.
In this magnificent mansion Queen Elizabeth had been entertained in
princely style during one of her progresses by John Giffard; and the
house, from its size and situation, had been once under consideration
as a suitable place of confinement for Mary, Queen of Scots. Its
hospitalities were now at an end--its halls desolate. When the
unfortunate Peter Giffard was deprived of his abode, Chillington was
converted into a garrison by Sir William Brereton, and great damage
done to it by the Parliamentary soldiers. Luckily, they could not
destroy the beautiful avenue and the park, though they despoiled the
house and laid waste the splendid old gardens.
Boscobel, though only two miles distant from the hall, escaped injury
at this perilous juncture. William Penderel, who had been placed in
charge of the lodge by the Squire of Chillington, was not disturbed,
and was consequently able to afford shelter to many a Royalist. The
rest of the brothers were equally lucky. George was allowed to remain
at White Ladies, and the others pursued their quiet avocations in the
forest. No doubt they enjoyed this immunity solely because they did not
excite Sir William Brereton's suspicions.
William Penderel had now been two-and-twenty years at Boscobel. The
office of under-steward was conferred upon him at the time of his
marriage, so that he obtained a most comfortable residence for himself
and his wife--the only drawback being that the tenure of the post was
somewhat insecure, and when the Chillington estates were sequestered,
he fully expected to be turned off. However, he was at Boscobel still.
William had four children--two sons and two daughters--but they were
now from home.
In Dame Joan, his wife, he possessed a capital helpmate. She could
not boast of much personal attraction, but she had many excellent
qualities. A model of prudence, she could be safely trusted on all
emergencies, and she was as good-tempered as discreet. Tall and strong,
Dame Joan was not masculine either in look or manner, and her features,
though plain and homely, had a kindly expression, that did not belie
her nature. She had a thoroughly honest look, and the tidiness of her
apparel proclaimed an excellent housewife. Such was the opinion formed
by Charles of this worthy woman, as he beheld her for the first time,
when crossing the threshold of Boscobel House.
After making him an obeisance, not devoid of a certain rustic grace,
Joan drew back respectfully, and ushered his majesty and Careless into
a parlour on the ground floor, and then made another obeisance.
"Oddsfish! my good dame," said Charles, smiling. "You understand
matters of ceremony so well, that you must e'en come to
court--supposing I should ever have a court."
"Boscobel was greatly honoured when the Earl of Derby sought shelter
here," replied Joan. "But it is now far more highly honoured since your
majesty has set foot within the house. My husband and myself are not
fitting persons to receive your majesty, but we will do our best, and
you may depend upon it we will watch over you most carefully."
This was the finest speech Joan had ever delivered, but she deemed it
necessary to the occasion. Charles thanked her graciously, but said,
"Mark me, my good dame. All ceremony must be laid aside. Any observance
of it might endanger my safety. When I put on this garb I became one of
yourselves. Address me only as Will Jackson."
"I can never bring myself to address your majesty by such a name as
that!" said Joan.
"Wife! wife!" cried William Penderel from behind. "You must do whatever
his majesty bids you, without a word."
"Why, you are committing a similar error, William," laughed the king.
"But if you desire to oblige me, my good dame, you will go and prepare
breakfast."
"Master William Jackson shall have the best the house can furnish--and
quickly," replied Joan, departing.
The apartment into which the king had been shown was tolerably large,
though the ceiling was low, and it was lighted by a bay-window at
the further end, and by a lattice-window at the side, commanding
the entrance to the house, and looking out upon the wood. A very
pleasant room, wainscoted with black oak, and furnished with an ample
dining-table, and chairs of the same material. In the days of old John
Giffard many a festive party had gathered round that board after a
day's hunting or hawking in the forest, but it was long, long since
there had been revelry of any kind at the lodge. Over the carved oak
mantel-piece hung a picture that caught Charles's attention. It was the
portrait of a grave-looking personage in a velvet doublet and ruff,
with eyes so life-like that they seemed to return the king's glances.
"The old gentleman above the fireplace appears to bid me welcome,"
observed Charles. "He has a fine face."
"It is the portrait of Squire John Giffard of Chillington, who built
this house, my liege," said William Penderel. "It has always been
accounted a good likeness. Ah! if the worthy squire could but have
foreseen who would come here for shelter! Some good saint must have
inspired him, when he contrived the hiding-places."
"Of a truth, I ought to feel much beholden to him for providing me with
such a place of refuge," remarked Charles.
While examining the room, the king noticed a door on the left, and
found on investigation that it opened on a small closet, with a
lattice-window looking upon a retired part of the garden. There was no
furniture in the closet except a desk, which might be used for prayer.
"Is this one of the hiding-places?" asked Charles.
"No, my liege," replied William Penderel, who had followed him. "This
is an oratory. We are Roman Catholics, as your majesty is aware."
"I see no altar," observed Charles.
William Penderel opened a recess in the wall, so contrived that it had
quite escaped the king's attention, and disclosed a small altar, with a
cross above it.
"Here we pay our devotions in private," he said.
"And here I will pay mine," rejoined Charles. "I must return thanks
to the Great Power that has hitherto preserved me. Leave me."
Careless and William Penderel at once retired, and closed the door of
the oratory.
Left alone, Charles knelt down before the altar, and was for some time
occupied in fervent prayer.
[Illustration: BOSCOBEL HOUSE FROM THE FRONT.]
CHAPTER II.
HOW TRUSTY DICK BETHOUGHT HIM OF THE OAK.
In the hasty description of Boscobel House, previously given, it was
remarked that the most singular feature of the edifice was a huge
projecting chimney-stack. A very extraordinary chimney it was, for it
had as many as seven small windows, or apertures, within it, placed at
various heights, the two lowest of the openings being about eight or
nine feet from the ground. Viewed at the side it could be seen that the
chimney-stack, which rose considerably above the roof, formed part of a
projecting wing of the house, and that there must be something peculiar
in the construction of the funnels. Altogether it had a strange,
mysterious look, and suggested the idea that the builder must have been
slightly crazed. Yet, odd as it was, the huge, heavy, fantastic chimney
harmonised with the rest of the structure. The reader will have already
surmised that within this chimney-stack a secret hiding-place existed;
the entrance to it being from a closet connected with a bedroom on the
first floor--as will be more particularly described hereafter--while
there was an outlet into the garden through a little postern,
completely screened by ivy.
Since the king's arrival at Boscobel, the chimney-stack had acquired a
new interest in Trusty Dick's eyes, and being now left in the garden
to keep watch, he scrutinised it with an anxiety such as he had never
heretofore felt, peering up at the narrow slits of windows, and
stooping down to ascertain that the postern was completely hidden by
the ivy.
Never before had he doubted the security of the hiding-place, but
misgivings now came over him. What if a careful examination of the
chimney, outside and inside, should be made while the king was
concealed therein? Discovery would then be inevitable. Pondering upon
the matter, Dick quitted the garden, and in another instant was among
the noble old trees growing near the house.
An idea had taken possession of him, and he walked on till he reached
a giant oak which, standing a little clear of its fellows, was able
to spread abroad its mighty arms. This was the tree he sought. Though
it must have been centuries old, the oak seemed in full vigour, and
had suffered very little from decay. Its trunk was enormous. It had
not, however, grown to a great height, but had spread laterally.
Dick examined this ancient oak very carefully--walked slowly round
it--looked up at the bushy central branches, and seemed perfectly
satisfied with his scrutiny.
"This is the tree for the king to hide in!" he mentally ejaculated;
"this is the tree!--the best in the whole forest. No one could discover
him among those thick branches."
He was still examining the oak when he was roused by Major Careless,
who had been searching for him, and having found him, called out, "What
ho! Dick--have you deserted your post?"
Dick explained the object that had brought him thither, and when he
concluded, Careless said, "You are right, Dick. In that oak our royal
master will be safe from his enemies. I will bear him company while he
hides within the tree. But I must look at it more closely."
Not content with inspecting the tree, Careless determined to test its
efficiency as a place of concealment, and with his companion's aid, he
therefore climbed up into it, and concealed himself among the smaller
branches.
"Canst see me now, Dick?" he called out.
"See you!--not a bit," rejoined the other. "I should never guess your
honour was up there."
The assurance was quite enough for Careless, and he quickly descended.
"Thou hast made a most lucky discovery, Dick," he cried. "'Tis a famous
tree to hide in. His majesty will be as comfortable amid its branches
as if seated in an arm-chair. I will tell him so."
While returning to the house they caught sight of two persons
approaching through the trees, and might have felt some alarm had not
Dick instantly recognised his brother Humphrey.
With Humphrey Penderel was a well-clad youth, whose slight figure
contrasted strikingly with that of the stalwart miller.
As the pair advanced, Careless's curiosity was much excited by the
appearance of this youth, and he questioned Dick concerning him.
"He is named Jasper," was the reply. "He is page to Mistress Jane Lane."
"Mistress Jane Lane's page! Impossible!" cried Careless, whose surprise
increased as the youth drew nearer, and his delicately-formed features
could be more clearly discerned.
"Nay, 'tis quite certain," remarked Dick. "He came with her the other
night to Hobbal Grange. He is a forward youth, and talked much with the
king, who sat beside him, and seemed to notice him."
"I marvel his majesty did not tell me of the meeting," cried Careless.
"Doubtless, he had forgotten it," said Dick.
They had waited till the others came up, and as the page approached, he
seemed somewhat confused, but quickly regained his composure.
Humphrey Penderel, the miller of Boscobel, was just as big, and as
strongly-built as his brothers, but his broad good-humoured countenance
did not wear its customary smile. On the contrary, he appeared anxious.
After returning the sturdy miller's salutation, Careless addressed the
page, who for the moment completely engrossed his attention.
"Good morrow, Jasper!" he said.
"I give your honour good day," replied the page, doffing his cap, and
letting fall locks that had evidently not been subjected to Puritan
scissors. "I believe I am speaking with Major Careless."
"Right, good youth. If thou hast aught to say to me in private, prithee
step aside."
"I have nothing to say to your honour that the others may not hear,"
returned Jasper, declining the invitation. "I will only ask you to
bring me to his majesty."
"I know not that his majesty will see you," said Careless. "I will take
your message to him."
"I am quite sure he will see me," rejoined the page. "Mention my name
to him, and 'twill suffice."
"Aha! you think so. His majesty will laugh at me if I tell him that a
saucy page desires to be admitted to his presence."
"I pray you make the trial," said Jasper. "You will find that I am
right, and you are wrong."
"Do you bring a message from Mistress Jane Lane?"
"Your honour must excuse my answering that question. My business is
important--very important--and does not admit of delay. If you decline
to take me to his majesty, I will proceed to the house, and endeavour
to find him. I will not be thwarted in my purpose."
"You have boldness enough for anything."
"'Tis a duty to be bold when the object is to serve the king."
"How knew you that his majesty is at Boscobel? Tell me that."
"I obtained the information from Humphrey Penderel, who brought me
here. But do not question me now--I must and will see the king."
"'Must and will' see him?"
"Ay, and without delay. You will incur his sovereign displeasure if you
detain me."
"I will put that to the test," cried Careless. "You must stay here
while I go to him."
An end, however, was put to the discussion by the appearance of the
royal personage to whom it related.
Charles, having finished his devotions in the oratory, had come forth
into the garden, and after lingering there for a short time had passed
out into the wood, where he chanced upon an opening that gave him a
view of the vast sylvan scene with the Clee Hills and the rounded
Wrekin in the distance.
After gazing at the fair prospect for a few minutes he moved in another
direction, and presently came in sight of the party standing beneath
the trees. Great was his surprise, when the page, who could not be
restrained by Careless, ran towards him, and would have bent the knee,
if the king had not checked him.
"How is this?" cried Charles. "Have you left your mistress to follow
the fortunes of a fugitive Cavalier?"
"I hope soon to rejoin Mistress Jane Lane, my liege," replied Jasper.
"I have not come in quest of Major Careless, for sooth to say, I did
not know he was here. I have come to warn your majesty that your
enemies are on your track, and will search for you here to-day."
"Here!" exclaimed Charles.
"Here--at Boscobel," rejoined Jasper. "They believe they have run you
to ground, and make sure of capturing you. Your majesty will wonder how
I obtained this information. You shall hear. Yesterday, Mistress Jane
Lane and myself remained at Hobbal Grange, as we did not like to quit
our retreat, but in the evening we proceeded to the mill belonging to
Humphrey Penderel, being assured that that honest man would convey us
to Moseley Hall. We had not long arrived at the mill, when a patrol
stopped there, and we had only just time to hide ourselves when the
rogues entered the house. I was concealed in a chest standing in
the room in which they sat down, and consequently overheard their
discourse. It related entirely to your majesty. You have been traced to
White Ladies, and they are certain you are somewhere hereabouts. They
are equally certain they shall be able to discover your retreat--but
I trust you will be able to baffle them. Their orders are to search
Boscobel to-day, and they will be accompanied by Colonel James, who is
now quartered at Chillington. All this, and a good deal more, I heard
while ensconced in the chest. They spoke of the reward offered for
your majesty's discovery, and told Humphrey Penderel he should have a
thousand pounds, which would make him rich for life, if he delivered
you up to them, but that he would be hanged as a traitor if he helped
to conceal you. Humphrey made no answer at the time, but afterwards
declared he should like to have broken their heads for so insulting
him."
"Brave fellow!" exclaimed Charles. "He is as trusty as his brothers."
"No fear of him," said Jasper. "But Colonel James is greatly to be
apprehended. He is one of your majesty's most dangerous enemies, and
will use his utmost endeavours to find you. I do not think you will be
safe at Boscobel."
"Where shall I be safe?" cried Charles. "I have only just arrived here,
and now you counsel me to quit my retreat."
"Hide yourself in the forest, sire, and return to the house after it
has been searched."
"The advice is good, and I am inclined to follow it," rejoined the
king. "Mistress Jane Lane, I trust, is in safety?"
"She is at Moseley Hall, sire. As soon as the rebels were gone,
Humphrey Penderel put a pillion on his pad-nag, and took her there."
"And you?"
"I remained to warn your majesty."
"I am infinitely obliged to you--but confess that you had some slight
expectation of finding Major Careless with me, and I am glad you have
not been disappointed."
"I had no such expectation, sire," replied the page, blushing. "I
understood Major Careless was at Madeley. I neither sought, nor desired
a meeting with him."
"Odsfish! you have changed your mind since we last met."
"Perhaps so, sire. But I would not have my motive misconstrued. 'Tis
devotion to you that has induced me to take this step. When I learnt
that Colonel James was at Chillington--in quest of you--and resolved to
discover your retreat, I felt you were in great danger, and I therefore
made up my mind to warn you. Had I not found you here I should have
gone to all the places where you were likely to take refuge. I have
discharged my duty--and unless your majesty has some commands for me, I
shall take my departure for Moseley Hall, where I hope to find Mistress
Jane Lane. If she has gone on to Bentley Hall, I shall follow her
thither."
"Shall I send Major Careless with you?"
"On no account. Humphrey Penderel has undertaken to take charge of me.
Heaven guard your majesty!"
Making an obeisance to the king, Jasper hastened back to the party
who had been watching the interview with some curiosity, and signing
to Humphrey Penderel, the sturdy miller instantly started off through
the trees, while the page followed him, totally disregarding Major
Careless's entreaties to him to stop.
CHAPTER III.
HOW THE KING AND CARELESS TOOK REFUGE IN THE OAK.
Careless would have followed, but was prevented by the king, who strode
quickly towards the spot where he was standing with Trusty Dick, and
forbade him to stir.
"Spare me a moment, I beseech you, sire," cried Careless. "I must have
a word with this youth."
"Stir not," said Charles, in an authoritative tone. "He has told me all
it is necessary I should know, and you can question him on your own
account at a more convenient season."
"But there seems to be a misunderstanding, sire, which may be rectified
in an instant, if you will only allow me----"
"Not now," interrupted Charles. "No time must be wasted in idle talk.
The youth has come to warn me that this house of Boscobel will probably
be searched to-day by Colonel James, who is quartered at Chillington."
"Humphrey has just informed me that the rebel troopers were at the mill
last night, sire," observed Dick; "and they told him they were sure
your majesty was concealed somewhere hereabouts, and they would never
rest till they found you."
"They told him something more," said Charles. "They offered him a large
reward to betray me."
"He didn't tell me that," said Dick. "But Humphrey is no traitor, sire."
"He is as loyal and faithful as yourself, Dick. I cannot say more. But
now--give me your frank opinion. In the event of a rigorous search by
this confounded Colonel James, do you think I should be safe in yonder
house?"
"Well, your majesty might be discovered--and you might not," hesitated
Dick.
"That's no answer, Dick," said the king. "Speak plainly, man."
"I've already had some misgivings, sire. While these scoundrelly
troopers are about, and especially when they've got an active leader,
who will peer into every hole and corner, my honest opinion is that
your majesty will be safer in the wood than in the house. There are
no hiding-places like those of Boscobel--that I'll uphold--but your
majesty's safety is too precious to be trifled with."
"Nothing must be left to chance," said Careless. "I am of Trusty Dick's
opinion that till this threatened danger has blown over, your majesty
will be safest in the wood. We have found a tree in which you can
hide."
"I hope it is an oak," cried Charles. "I would rather owe my safety to
the king of the forest than to any inferior tree."
"Truly it is an oak--a grand old oak--and hath not its peer in the
forest," said Dick.
"Take me to it," said Charles.
In another minute he stood before the tree.
He was gazing at it with admiration, when William Penderel and his
brother John were seen at a distance, evidently in quest of his
majesty, and no sooner did they descry him than they hurried forward.
"You are looking for me, William?" said the king.
"Your majesty must be pleased to return at once to the house," replied
William Penderel. "Indeed, I must make bold to say it is highly
imprudent to stray so far away, when the enemy is lurking about. John,
who has been acting as scout, brings word that a small detachment
of troopers, with Colonel James at their head, are coming from
Chillington, and are almost certain to find their way here."
"I have run so fast to get before them that I have well-nigh lost my
breath," gasped John. "But I beseech your majesty to conceal yourself
without delay."
"I mean to do so--in this tree," replied Charles.
"In this tree!" cried William, in a tone of disappointment. "Everything
is prepared in the house."
"His majesty has decided upon taking refuge in this oak," said Careless.
"Nay, then, no more need be said," observed William Penderel. "And
perhaps it may be for the best. But you have not breakfasted, sire. And
my good dame has got all ready for you."
"I must dispense with breakfast, I fear," observed Charles, with a sigh.
"Oh! we can breakfast in the tree," cried Careless. "There is every
convenience among the branches. Can't you bring a basket of provisions,
William, with a flask of wine?"
"Suppose I am caught by the Roundheads, they will at once conclude the
provisions and wine are intended for his majesty. Most assuredly, the
house will be watched."
"You cannot be too cautious, William," observed the king. "I care not
how long I fast."
"But I do," groaned Careless.
"Help me to climb the tree," cried Charles.
The king, who was remarkably active, scarcely needed the assistance he
demanded, and, with very slight aid from William Penderel, was quickly
among the branches.
"Your majesty is as nimble as a squirrel," cried the forester, in
admiration.
"Are you coming to me, Careless?" said the king, looking down.
"Most certainly, sire," replied the major.
And in another instant he was by the king's side.
"Do not tarry here longer, my good friends," cried Charles to the
brothers. "I feel quite safe, now I am in this oak. Return to me when
you can do so without risk."
In obedience to his commands, the three brothers departed--William
Penderel returning to the house, while Trusty Dick and John posted
themselves in different parts of the wood, but at no great distance
from the oak in which the king was hidden.
CHAPTER IV.
HOW CARELESS CAPTURED AN OWL IN THE OAK.
Seated upon a large bough, and with his feet upon a lower branch, the
king looked down at Careless, and could not help laughing at him.
"This would be an amusing adventure if your majesty's safety were not
in question," observed the major.
"I suppose you never spent a day in a tree, Will?"
"Never, sire. I don't know what it's like. I have done a good many
strange things in my time, but this is one I never yet did. We must
make ourselves as cheerful as we can under the circumstances."
"You have the happy knack of being always cheerful, Will."