“Whatever harmonies of law
The growing world assume,
Thy work is Thine. The single note
From that deep chord which Hampden smote
Will vibrate to the doom.”
--Tennyson.
By the time they approached Magdalene Bridge the twilight had faded
into darkness, but the stars shone brightly in the frosty atmosphere,
and the snowy ground glimmered white through the pervading gloom. Some
temporary fortifications, not of a very effective order, had lately
been made to protect the bridge, and a strict guard was kept. It was the
endeavour to pass through at this late hour of the afternoon which was
like to prove their greatest peril.
More than once Humphrey Neal looked with anxiety at his two companions.
From Sandy nothing but a dog-like obedience could be expected; and it
seemed to him that Gabriel’s overbright eyes and feverishly flushed
face told their own tale. The lieutenant, whose fortitude and intrepid
courage had carried him in a masterly fashion through the escape from
the Castle, stood now on the verge of utter collapse. Clearly it rested
with him to take the initiative and to pioneer the others through this
dangerous attempt to pass the sentries.
“Sing a snatch of some carol as we walk,” he suggested.
And Gabriel obeyed, chanting, to a tune he had known all his life, the
words:
“The God of love doth give His Son,
The Prince of Peace, to quell
The sin and strife that mar man’s life;
With us He deigns to dwell.
On earth be peace,
Bid strife to cease,
To all men show goodwill.”
By this time they had reached the first sentry.
“Halt, there!” said the man. “None leaves the city after sunset.”
“Good master sentry, let us pass; the sun hath set but an hour, and
we be bound to reach Cowley by supper-time,” said Humphrey in his
countryman’s drawl.
The sentry summoned one of the guard.
“Leave the city!” said the burly fellow, with a laugh. “You’re too late,
my man.”
“We should ha’ been here sooner, sir,” said Humphrey, “but we had to
sing in the quad at Merton to Her Majesty. You’ll never be denying us
when we tell you that we’ve been carol-singing to the King and Queen.”
“Well, well, you seem a harmless fellow, but I don’t remember your
coming into the city.”
“I came in yesterday, sir; and for the love o’ heaven let us pass
through now to the Cowley road, for it be cruel cold here, and we have
but this night to earn a few coins by our minstrelsy.”
“Well, go through with you, then,” said the guard, carelessly, “and you
may thank your stars that it be Christmas night, or I’d not have let you
by.”
“God bless you, sir, for a good Christian,” said Humphrey, touching his
hat. “Come, mates, we’ll e’en give them a tune as we go.”
Then raising the lute he sounded the refrain of the Bosbury carol, and
they passed out of Oxford singing the old familiar words which for one
of them had so many memories. Once Gabriel glanced back to the bridge,
and the dim outline of the towers and spires of the beautiful city, with
its lights shining out here and there like glowworms; and most fervently
did he hope never again to enter the place where he had suffered such
torments.
For some minutes they walked rapidly on, but when at length they were
out of earshot the sense of their good fortune in escaping thus far
successfully made them forget everything in a rapturous sense of relief.
They laughed and shouted like schoolboys released from work, and it was
as much as Sandy could do to keep pace with them.
“No more gruesome thoughts of racks and halters!” said Humphrey. “And
for you no more months of slow starvation in that fever den. Farewell, a
long farewell to Aaron and his rod!”
“I wonder if by now he has recovered his senses,” said Gabriel. “’Tis
more like that our rope has been discovered by the guard and the escape
found out in that fashion--I wish we could have brought it off with us.”
“We will press on as fast as may be for fear of pursuit,” said Humphrey.
“There’s a house I know at Cowley where we can get food. ’Tis owned by
an old retainer of ours who can be trusted.”
They toiled on as fast as might be over the rough road, with its
treacherous ruts frozen hard, and all were thankful enough when they saw
the outline of St. Bartholomew’s leper-house looming into sight, for the
frosty air and the exercise had sharpened their appetites.
Old Nicholas, the farmer, gladly gave them food, and they were sitting
in his chimney-corner feasting on cakes and hot ale, when to their
dismay the tramp of horses and the voices of men without made them fear
that already they were pursued.
“Never heed, Master Humphrey,” said old Nicholas. “I’ll put them on
the wrong track, and do you all step up the stairs behind yon door, for
maybe they’ll be thrusting their heads into the house place.”
They obeyed their host, and Humphrey, knowing well that he was a shrewd
old man, had faith in his discretion. The others heard in no small
trepidation the tramp of feet on the flagged path leading to the door;
then came a peremptory knock.
Nicholas opened promptly enough, anxious to keep his questioners in a
good temper.
“Have you seen aught of three carol singers here?” asked a voice which
clearly reached the fugitives on the staircase.
“Bellringers did you say?” asked Nicholas, feigning deafness. “Up at the
inn, sir, supping at the inn.”
“Three _carol singers_,” shouted the man.
“Oh! to be sure,” nodded Nicholas. “Yes, sir, and one of them had a
lute, oh! yes to be sure, I saw them a while ago, and they was singing
like archangels.”
“Which way did they take?” shouted the pursuer. “Are they like to be at
the inn?”
“No, sir, not at the inn,” said Nicholas, shaking his head vigorously.
“Which way did they go?”
Nicholas stepped out into the garden and pointed and gesticulated with
much energy.
“Where does that lead to?” questioned the officer.
“Where does it lead to?” repeated Nicholas, as though not quite sure
that he had heard aright. “It leads to Thame, sir, you’ll soon get
there; Thame the market town.”
“Oh, they have taken the road there, have they. The villains have
escaped from Oxford Castle and one of them is a spy. Now then, my boys,
set spurs to your horses, we shall soon run the quarry to earth, and the
first that comes up with them shall have the hanging of the vile rebels.
Keep to the left and press on.”
The sound of the horses’ hoofs died away in the distance; then Nicholas
returned to the house place, and the three hunted men came out of
hiding.
“That was a close shave, Nicholas,” said Humphrey Neal, shaking the old
man’s hand gratefully. “Thanks to your ready wit we are safe, but we
must press forward without delay or these wolves will be the death of us
yet.”
“Where do you escape to, sir?” asked Nicholas.
“To London,” said Gabriel. “There will be a warm welcome for Mr. Neal
at Notting Hill Manor, the home of my grand dame. ’Tis thanks to him I
have escaped.”
“Thanks to your own courage,” said Humphrey. “But we will hasten on,
Nicholas, without delay, and at Watlington I will get old Parslow to
speed us on our journey.”
Nicholas with many good wishes bade them farewell, and, taking the
precaution of leaving the road, they went across country, shortening the
distance and running less risk of capture.
“I have hunted so often in this part of the country that I know every
inch of the ground,” said Humphrey, as he pioneered his two companions
across the snowy fields and frozen brooks. “’Tis not so pleasant a
matter, though, to be hunted oneself, especially on foot. Perhaps at
Watlington we can get a mount from Parslow, he is the landlord of the
‘Hare and Hounds,’ and I’ve known him all my life.”
The bitter wind blew in their faces as they toiled on; and, at length,
Sandy began to whimper that he could go no farther. They tried their
utmost to cheer the lad.
“We shall soon be at Watlington,” said Humphrey, “and I’ll get Parslow
to give you a berth as stable boy; you shall be as happy as a King, and
maybe happier, with plenty to eat and a motherly old cook who’ll see
you’re not bullied. Oh! you’ll think yourself in paradise after the life
you’ve led with Aaron.”
Sandy grinned placidly, but soon remarked again that he was “cruel
footsore.”
“This is Chalgrove field, where Colonel Hampden got his death wound,”
said Humphrey, and Gabriel looked over the snowy ground, gleaming white
in the starlight, and tried to think how it had looked on that fatal
day when a deadly fight had been fought, and the waving corn had been
trampled underfoot and dyed crimson with the blood of the noblest of
Englishmen.
By this time the excitement which had carried him on had subsided, and
though he said nothing, it was evident to Humphrey that only dogged
resolution and an indomitable will enabled him to drag one foot after
the other. But he came of a stock that was not easily daunted, and it
was not till they reached the “Hare and Hounds” at Watlington that he
would admit that he was dead beat.
“Come round to the back entrance,” said Humphrey. “I’ll get a word with
old Mogg the cook.”
Softly lifting the latch, he took them into the kitchen of the inn,
where an old crone, with a most good-natured face, sat alone by the
fire.
“Mogg,” said Humphrey, stealing across the room, “a happy Christmas to
you, and of your charity take us into hiding, for we stand in peril of
our lives.”
“Larka mercy, Master Humphrey, how you do startle a body,” exclaimed the
old woman, beaming with pleasure at the sight of one she had known
from babyhood. “What’s amiss with yonder gentleman? Methinks he is but
ill-fitted for travelling. ’Tis in bed you should be, sir, with a good
sack posset and warm blankets.”
“In truth, ’tis where I would fain be,” said Gabriel, dropping on to
the nearest bench. “Yet I would crave leave to have a wash first.”
Sandy stared at him, that anyone should actually wish to be clean on
this cold winter’s night seemed to him the most extraordinary thing he
had ever heard.
“Ay, Mogg, the brutes have treated my friend most scurvily,” said
Humphrey; “do you furnish him with one of your master’s shirts and a
pair of hose, and look well to him, for he’s worn out and half-starved.
But first take me to the master’s room and let me have speech of him in
private, for we will keep our coming quiet if possible.”
Parslow, the landlord, who had known Squire Neal, of Chinnor, for many
years, gladly undertook to help Humphrey, and Sandy was promised work in
the stableyard on the understanding that the two gentlemen he had helped
so greatly should start him in life with money for his outfit. By nine
o’clock, thanks to Mogg’s kindly offices, Gabriel found himself in a
state of drowsy cleanliness and comfort in a great four-post bed, and
when Parslow ushered his friend into the room and stayed for awhile
chatting he was too blissfully sleepy to open his eyes.
“Then, should there be any signs of pursuit, you will let us know,” said
Humphrey, setting down his candle and pulling off his boots. “Meanwhile
we’ll sleep.”
“’Tis the bed on which Colonel Hampden lay the night before Chalgrove
fight,” said Parslow. “Well do I remember it.”
“And I’ve good cause to remember it, too, Robin, for ’twas the very
night Prince Rupert’s men set our house ablaze and brought us to ruin.
Well, good-night to you, and many thanks for your aid. We will be up by
four, and, as you suggest, go with Jock the carrier to Henley. Once out
of Oxfordshire we shall be safe. My friend sleeps already I see. Poor
fellow, after lying for months on bare boards, I’ll warrant he thinks
himself in clover.”
They slept soundly for some three hours, then Humphrey was roused
by hearing a peremptory knocking without. He started up in bed and
listened; someone was going downstairs to the front entrance, and again
a thundering knock descended on the door.
Stealing across to the window, he looked cautiously down and descried
the dark forms of four or five horsemen--there were sounds of unbolting
the door, and then the question he had expected: “Have you seen a party
of minstrels from Oxford pass through here?”
“No, sir,” said the landlord, with truth.
“Curse the fellows! How can we have missed them? Do you and a couple
of men ride on, sergeant, you may yet overtake them on the London-road.
Everton, you and I will get some food and a few hours’ sleep here.”
“I can give you food, gentlemen, but being Christmas night we are fuller
than usual,” said Parslow.
“Oh, anything will do,” said the officer, dismounting. “Everton, see the
horses fed and stabled while the landlord makes ready for us, it will
be the quickest way in the end.” Humphrey whistled softly to himself,
dismayed to think of the risk they now ran of being trapped. The notion
of being taken in bed and being dragged back to Oxford to be hung was
not to be borne. He groped in the dark for his clothes and hastily
dressed. His companion still slept, though uneasily, now and again
talking and moaning in a way which alarmed Humphrey, who thought it
highly probable that the new fever had already attacked him.
Presently there was a soft knock at the door and the latch was lifted by
the landlord, who stole in cautiously, candle in hand.
“Sir,” said Parslow, “you are not safe here. I’ve left the King’s
officers down below supping, and have promised to make a room ready for
them. I will put them in here if we can safely manage to take the two of
you down to the stableyard. Once there I can hide you among the sacks in
the carrier’s cart, and will rouse Jock when the officers are abed and
bid him drive you with all speed to Henley.”
“’Tis our only hope,” said Humphrey; “yet I don’t know but my friend
is too ill to travel. Look at him.”
In truth the sleeper’s flushed face and burning hands were not
reassuring, but they were obliged to rouse him and try to explain
matters.
He started up, staring at them in a dazed, bewildered way.
“We are within an ace of being caught,” whispered Humphrey. “Don your
clothes with all speed and the landlord will help us to escape.”
With an effort Gabriel forced himself to attend, though it seemed to
him that a couple of sledge-hammers were pounding remorselessly on his
brain. He began to dress without a word, but staggered and all but fell
when he attempted to cross the room. Humphrey took him by the arm.
“What of Sandy?” he asked. “Let us leave the money for him.”
“To be sure,” said Humphrey, placing some gold pieces in the landlord’s
hand. “I know you’ll have the poor fellow provided for, Robin, and
for your help to us you shall be well recompensed. We’ll follow you on
tiptoe without more delay.”
The landlord had hurriedly re-arranged the bed, and now, candle in
hand, crept down the stairs, pausing once or twice to make sure that the
officers from Oxford were still chatting over their supper. Humphrey
was relieved to see that the sense of danger had for the time restored
Gabriel. With admirable selfcontrol he rallied his failing powers, stole
softly after the landlord, and left the inn by the back door at which
they had made their entrance a few hours earlier. In the stableyard
stood a carrier’s cart piled up with sacks of corn. Into this the two
fugitives climbed, the landlord arranging the sacks round them and
covering the whole with a bit of sail-cloth.
“You lie there, gentlemen, and you’ll be safe enough,” he said, “and
when the officers are abed I’ll rouse Jock and bid him put in the horses
and drive to Henley.”
The waiting seemed endless, but at last they heard cautious steps
approaching and whispered remarks between Parslow and Jock, and finally
there came the grinding of the wheels and a shaking and jarring of the
cart which made Gabriel feel as if his last hour was come. He gasped for
breath; to move was impossible, for the corn sacks were piled on every
side, and on the top of them.
“I can never endure twelve miles of this--we shall be here for hours,”
he reflected, desperately.
But just then, as the cart rumbled out of the yard and passed into the
street, there were sounds of a window being thrust open, and a man’s
voice shouted out.
“Ho! there! Which way are you going?”
The fugitives held their breath to listen; clearly their pursuers had
heard the sounds of departure--were they even at this last moment to
fall into the hands of their captors?
“Why, what a fool I was,” reflected Gabriel. “I could endure for days
in this carrier’s cart if needful. Anything--anything rather than to
be again a prisoner in Oxford Castle!” Meanwhile Jock was conveniently
deaf, and drove placidly along the snowy street.
“Stop, you fellow,” roared the officer. “Which way do you go, and what’s
your errand?”
Jock drew up, swearing vehemently.
“Where be I a-goin?” he shouted, in a surly voice. “To Henley with a load
of corn.”
And to the horror of the fugitives he got down from his place and began
in a leisurely way to alter something in the harness, lugubriously
singing meanwhile a snatch of a tune which Gabriel thought would ring in
his ears for ever.
The cramp is in my purse full sore,
No money will bide therein--a,
And if I had some salve therefore,
O lightly then would I sing--a.
The officer at the window above burst into a laugh.
“In truth a shrewd fellow!--here’s a groat to mend the purse, and if on
the road you come upon three soldiers bid them wait on me here as they
return, and fail not to tell them if you have clapped eyes on any of
these cursed wandering minstrels.-”
The window was closed, and with a cheery word to the horses Jock climbed
back to his place. They heard him chuckle to himself as he resumed the
reins, and soon the cart had rumbled out of Watlington and was rolling
and swaying and grinding its way among the frozen ruts.
“How do you fare?” said Humphrey, anxiously.
“I shall last out,” said Gabriel, philosophically. “’Tis better than a
halter anyway. Is the driver trustworthy?”
“Yes, an honest old man, he’ll stand by us, I know him well. But I
thought that fellow at the window smelt a rat and would stop us at
the last moment. Heavens! How this road doth churn one up! we shall
be knocked black and blue by the time we have got to the end of the
journey.”
Gabriel was past speaking. He could only lie there in torment,
half fancying that he had been sentenced to be pressed to death, so
increasingly intolerable grew the weight of the corn-sacks above him.
The only relief was from a chink between the sacks which chanced to come
just where a rent in the sail-cloth let through a breath of air, and now
and then as the cart swayed brought into view a starry patch of the dark
blue vault above. He wondered what Hilary would have thought could she
know of his dilemma; and then with a rush of hope and a renewed sense
of life and strength, he remembered that freedom meant at least the
possibility of seeing her again. And spite of his present misery he
smiled to himself, and even perceived the humour of Jock’s song about
the cramp in his purse, with the monotonous chorus of
Ay ho, the cramp--a! ay ho, the cramp--a!
They must have travelled some eight or nine miles when the sound of
horsemen in the distance roused him to fresh anxiety. Doubtless the
soldiers, finding their errand at Henley hopeless, were riding back.
Now was the time when Jock’s fidelity and ready wit would be put to the
test. There was a breathless pause; the groaning of the wheels slowly
ceased and a harsh voice rang out into the night.
“Stand, in the King’s name!” shouted the sergeant, while his men seized
the horses. Instinctively Humphrey gripped the hand of his sick comrade.
The two lay listening in an agony of suspense to hear what questions
would be put.