We must now change the scene, and without much consideration of the
"pathos and bathos delightful to see," must remove the reader from the
higher and more refined society of Lord Walton, his sister, and the
Earl of Beverley, to the small sanded parlour of the little alehouse
in the village. We must also advance in point of time for about three
hours, and put the hour-hand of the clock midway between the figures
one and two, while the minute-hand is quietly passing over the six.
All was still in the place; the soldiery were taking their brief
repose, except a sentinel who walked up and down, pistol in hand, at
each entrance of the village; and the villagers themselves, having
recovered from the excitement caused by the arrival of the party, and
the drinking and merriment which followed it, had taken possession of
such beds as the troopers left them, and were enjoying the sweet but
hard-earned slumber of daily labour.
Two living creatures occupied the parlour of the alehouse: a large
tabby cat, which--as if afraid that the mice upon which she waged such
interminable and strategetic war might take advantage of her own
slumbers to surprise her--had mounted upon a three-legged stool, and
was enjoying her dreams in peace, curled up in a comfortable ball; and
Captain Barecolt, who, seated in a wooden arm-chair, with his long
leg-bones, still in their immemorial boots, stretched upon another,
kept watch, if such it could be called, with a large jug of ale beside
him, from which he took every now and then deep draughts, for the
purpose, as he mentally declared, of "keeping himself awake."
The effect was not exactly such as he expected, for from time to time
he fell into a doze, from which a sort of drowsy consciousness of the
proximity of the ale roused him up every quarter of an hour, to make a
new application to the tankard. At length, feeling that these naps
were becoming longer, he drew his legs off the chair, muttering--
"This won't do! I shall have that dried herring, Randal, upon me; I
must take a pipe and smoke it out."
And thereupon he moved hither and thither in the parlour, looking for
the implements necessary in the operation to which he was about to
apply himself. These were speedily found, and a few whiffs soon
enveloped him in a cloud as thick as that in which Homer's Jove was
accustomed to enshrine himself on solemn occasions; and in the midst
of this, the worthy captain continued ruminating upon the mighty deeds
he had done and was to do.
He thought over the past, and congratulated himself upon his vast
renown; for Captain Barecolt was one of those happy men who have a
facility of believing their own fictions. He was convinced that, if he
could but count them up, he had performed more feats of valour and
slaughtered more bloody enemies than Amadis de Gaul, Launcelot of the
Lake, the Admiral de Coligni, or the Duke of Alva. It was true he
thought such events soon passed from the minds of great men, being
common occurrences with them, so that he could not remember one-half
of what he had done, which he only regretted for the sake of society;
but he was quite sure that whenever opportunities served he should be
found superior to any of the great captains of the age, and that merit
and time must lead him to the highest distinction. This led him on to
futurity, and he made up his mind that the first thing he would do
should be to save the king's life when attacked on every side by
fifteen or sixteen horsemen. For this, of course, he would be knighted
on the spot, and receive the command of a regiment of horse, with
which he proposed to march at once to London, depose the lord mayor,
and, proceeding to the Parliament-house, dissolve the Parliament,
seize the speaker and twelve of the principal members, and hang Sir
Harry Vane. This, he thought, would be work enough for one day; but
the next morning he would march out with all the cavaliers he could
collect, defeat the Earl of Essex on one side, rout Waller on the
other, and then, with his prisoners, proceed to head-quarters, where,
of course, he would be appointed general-in-chief, and in that
capacity would bring the king to London.
What he would do next was a matter of serious consideration, for, the
war being at an end, Othello's occupation was gone; and as, during all
this time he had made sundry applications to his friend the tankard,
his imagination was becoming somewhat heavy on the wing, so that, in a
minute or two after he fell sound asleep, while the pipe dropped
unnoticed from his hand, and fractured its collar-bone upon the floor.
He had scarcely been asleep ten minutes when the door of the room
slowly opened, and a round head covered with short curls was thrust
in, with part of a burly pair of shoulders. The door was then pushed
partly open, and in walked a stout man in a good brown coat, who,
advancing quietly to the side of Captain Deciduous Barecolt, laid his
hand upon his arm. Now, what Captain Barecolt was dreaming of at that
moment it is impossible for the author of these pages to tell; but his
vision would appear to have been pugnacious, for the instant the
intruder's grasp touched his left arm he started up, and, stretching
out his right hand to a pistol which lay between the tankard and
himself on the table, snatched it up, levelled it at the head of his
visiter, and pulled the trigger.
Luckily for the brains, such as they were, of poor John Hurst (for he
was the person who had entered), in the last unsteady potations of the
bellicose captain, a few drops of ale had been spilt upon the pan of
the deadly weapon; and though the flint struck fire, no flash
succeeded, much to the astonishment of Barecolt, and the relief of his
companion.
"D--n the man!" cried Hurst, reeling back in terror; "what art thou
about? Dost thou go to shoot a man without asking, 'with your leave,
or by your leave?'"
"Never wake a sleeping tiger!" exclaimed Barecolt, with a graceful
wave of his hand. "You may think yourself profoundly lucky, master
yeoman, that you have got as much brains left in that round box of
yours as will serve to till your farm, for this hand never yet missed
anything within shot of a pistol or reach of a sword. I remember very
well once, in the island of Sardinia, a Corsican thought fit to
compare his nose to mine, upon which I told him that the first time we
met I would leave him no nose to boast of. He, being a wise man, kept
ever after out of reach of my hands; but one day, when he thought
himself in security upon a high bank, he called out to me, 'Ha! ha!
capitaine, I have got my nose still!' upon which, drawing out my
pistol, I aimed at his face, and, though the distance was full a
hundred yards, with the first shot I cut off his proboscis at the
root, so that it dropped down upon the road, and I picked it up and
put it in my pocket."
"It must have been somewhat thin in the stalk," said Hurst; "no good
stout English nose, I warrant you. But come, captain, you must take me
up to my lord. The sentry passed me on to you, and I want help
directly, for there is a nest of Roundheads not five miles from here,
who have got that poor little girl in their hands, and are brewing
mischief against us to-morrow. Half-a-dozen men may take them
to-night, but we may have hard work of it if we wait till daylight."
Captain Barecolt paused and meditated; a glorious opportunity of
buying distinction cheaply seemed now before him, and the only
difficulty was how to keep it all in his own hands.
"I cannot disturb the commander," he said, in a solemn tone, after a
few minutes' consideration; "that's quite impossible, my friend.
Faith, if you want help, you must be content with mine and
half-a-dozen soldiers of my troop. I am a poor creature, it is true,"
he continued, in a tone of affected modesty, "and not able to do so
much service as some men. I never killed above seventeen enemies in a
day; and the best thing I have to boast of is, having blown up a fort
containing three hundred men with my own unassisted hand. However,
what poor aid I can give you may command. We will take six picked men
with us, if that be enough; you and I will make eight; and if there be
not more than a hundred and fifty of the enemy, I think we could
manage."
"A hundred and fifty!" cried Hurst. "Why, there are but seven, and one
of them is not a fighting man."
"Who may they be?" asked Barecolt, in a solemn tone; "If there be but
seven we shall have no need of any men; I will go alone. Who may they
be?"
"Why, there's that Captain Batten, whom my lord took away prisoner, I
hear," replied Hurst; "then there's a Dr. Bostwick, a parliamentary
committee man; then there's old Dry, of Longsoaken, who dragged away
the girl while you were all fighting at the bridge; the other four
are, I hear, common councilmen of Coventry, though they are all decked
out in buff and bandolier, as if they were fire-eating soldiers just
come from the wars. They were laying a plan before they went to bed
for bringing troops from Coventry round about my lord and his men,
while two regiments of Essex's, that are marching into the north, were
to have warning, and cut off the retreat."
"Ha! ha! ha!" cried Captain Barecolt, "we will cut off theirs. Have
you got a horse, master yeoman? I think yours was killed in the
field."
"Ay, that it was," answered Hurst, "to my loss and sorrow; as good a
beast as ever was crossed, and cost me twenty pound."
"We will mount you, we will mount you," said the captain; "there are a
dozen and more good horses which forgot their riders yesterday, and
left them lying by the bridge. We may as well have half-a-dozen men
with us, however, just to tie the prisoners, for that is not work for
gentlemen; so you sit down and take a glass of ale, and I will get all
things ready."
In the course of about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, Captain
Barecolt had called to his aid eight men of the troop whom he could
most depend upon; and after having brought down Major Randal's cornet
to take his post during his absence, and mounted good John Hurst on
the horse of a trooper who had been killed the day before, he led the
way out of the little town, and, guided by the yeoman across the
country, advanced slowly towards another village situated in the
plain, about five or six miles from that in which they had taken up
their quarters. The country was open, without woods or hedges, but the
night was profoundly dark, and the wind sighing in long gusts over the
open fields. Nothing was to be seen except the glimmer of a piece of
water here and there, till they approached the village to which their
steps were bent, when one or two lights became visible amongst the
houses, as if, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, all the
inhabitants had not yet retired to rest. One of these lights, too, as
if proceeding from a lantern, appeared moving about in the gardens;
and Captain Barecolt, turning to Hurst, asked him, in a low voice--
"What is the meaning of those lights?"
"I don't know," answered the yeoman. "It was all dark when I crept
away."
"We shall soon see," rejoined Barecolt. "You are sure there are no
troops in the place?"
"There were none when I left it," replied Hurst; but, almost as he
spoke, a loud voice exclaimed--
"Stand! Who goes there?"
"A friend," answered Barecolt.
"Stand, and give the word!" repeated the voice, and at the same
moment, a small red spot of fire, as if produced by a man blowing a
match, appeared immediately before them; and Barecolt, spurring on his
horse, found himself in the presence of a matchlock-man, at whose head
he aimed a cut with his heavy sword, which rang sharply upon a steel
cap, and brought the man upon his knee.
He fired his piece, however, but he missed his mark, and threw down
the gun, while Barecolt, catching him by the shoulder, put his sword
to his throat, exclaiming--
"Yield, or you are a dead man!"
The sentinel had no hesitation on the subject, having already received
a sharp wound on the head, which left him little inclination to court
more.
"Now tell me who is in the village," exclaimed Barecolt; "and see that
you tell truth, for your life depends upon it."
"Three companies of Colonel Harris's regiment," answered the soldier,
"and a troop of Lord Essex's own horse."
"The number?" demanded Barecolt.
"Four hundred foot and a hundred troopers," replied the man;
and having a little recovered from his first apprehension, he
demanded--"Who may you be?"
"My name is Johnson," answered Barecolt, readily, "first captain of
Sir Nicholas Jarvis's regiment of horse, marching up to join the Earl
of Beverley and Lord Walton at Hendon, near Coventry. We thought they
were quartered in this village: whereabout do they lie?"
"Oh, no," answered the man, "they are five miles to the east, we hear,
and we were to attack them on the march tomorrow."
"Are you telling me the truth?" said Barecolt, in a stern tone; "but I
will make sure of that, for I will take you with me to Sir Nicholas
Jarvis, and if we find you have cheated us as to where they lie,
you shall be shot to-morrow at daybreak. Tie his hands, some of
you---- Hark! there is a drum! There, curse him, let him go; we have
no time to spare; I must get back to Sir Nicholas, and let him know we
are on the wrong road."
Thus saying, he turned his horse and rode away, followed by the rest
of his party; while the tramp of men coming down fast from the village
was heard behind them.
The reader need not be told that Captain Barecolt never had the
slightest intention of carrying off the wounded sentinel with him;
for, having filled him with false intelligence regarding the march of
his imaginary regiment, he was very glad to leave him behind to
communicate it to his fellows in the place. In the meanwhile, he
himself gave orders for putting the horses into a quick trot, and
returning with all speed to the village, where, without communicating
any tidings he had gained to any one, he left his men, and hurried up
with Hurst to the mansion on the hill.
The earl and Lord Walton were immediately called up, and Barecolt,
being admitted to their presence, made his statement. We are by no
means so rash as to assert that the account he gave was altogether
true; for Captain Deciduous Barecolt, much more skilful than the
writer of this tale, never lost sight of his hero, and his hero was
always himself; but, at all events, the intelligence he brought of the
enemy was accurate enough, and the stratagem he had used to deceive
the foe was also told correctly, and received great commendation. He
was sent down immediately, however, to call Major Randal to the
council, and, in the mean time, the two young noblemen eagerly
questioned Hurst as to what he had seen and heard amongst the adverse
party.
The good yeoman's tale was told briefly and simply, and showed the
following facts:--After his horse had been killed, he had carried off
his saddle and the other worldly goods which he possessed; and finding
that, without being of any service to his party, he was in imminent
danger of losing his own life from the stray shots that were flying
about in different directions, he made the best of his way to the back
of the little mound we have mentioned, and thence peeped out to see
the progress of the fight. Perceiving at one time, as he imagined, the
small force of Royalists wavering in their attack upon the musketeers,
he judged it expedient, lest his friends should be defeated, to put a
greater distance between himself and the enemy; and taking all the
articles that were most valuable to him out of the saddle, he left it
behind him, and hurried on for about a mile farther, where he took up
his position in a ditch. While thus ensconced, he saw the well-known
form of Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, together with that of another
gentleman, whom he afterwards found to be Captain Batten. Between
these two appeared poor Arrah Neil, of whose arm Dry retained a firm
grasp, while he held a pistol in his right hand, under the authority
of which he seemed to be hurrying her on unresistingly.
In about a quarter of an hour more, some fugitive musketeers ran by as
fast as they could go, and shortly after, several of Major Randal's
troopers appeared in pursuit; but as Hurst was unacquainted with the
soldiers, he prudently resolved to lie concealed where he was till
some of his lord's followers should come up, which he calculated would
be shortly the case, fearing he might be taken for one of the enemy,
or at all events that he might be plundered by a friend--an operation
as common in those days as in the present, though then it was done
with pistol and broadsword, and now, in general, with pen and ink.
Towards the end of the day some of Lord Walton's men did appear, and
spoke a word to him in passing, from which he gathered that they were
searching for Arrah Neil; but, with the usual acuteness of persons
sent upon a search, they rode on without waiting for any information
he could give. Having marked the road which Dry and his companions had
taken, Hurst then determined to follow them, and made his way to the
village, in which they halted for the night. His plan had proved
successful, he said; he had found the two parliamentary committee men,
together with Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, lodged in a house in the
village, and, boldly seeking out Dry, he gave him to understand that
he had been taken by Lord Walton to join the king against his will,
and was now making the best of his way home. He affected some fear of
being overtaken; and in order to reassure him, Dry and Dr. Bastwick
communicated to him the intelligence they received in the course of
the evening from the men of Coventry, in regard to the movement of
parliamentary forces. This took place some hours subsequently,
however, to the despatch of his note to Lord Walton, and he could not
make his escape from the village, in order to carry more accurate
tidings to his young landlord, till Dry and the rest had retired to
bed.
As soon as Major Randal arrived, a hasty consultation was held, to
ascertain the course of proceedings which it would be expedient to
follow. It was determined, notwithstanding great reluctance on the
part of Lord Walton, to leave poor Arrah Neil in the hands of Mr. Dry,
of Longsoaken, that the march should be immediately commenced; and
orders were given to that effect, which at once produced all the
bustle and confusion of hasty departure. Miss Walton was called up,
and, dressing herself hastily, was soon placed upon horseback once
more, for it was determined to leave the carriages behind; and in
about an hour the two noblemen and their followers, with Major
Randal's troop, were marching on, in the grey of the dawn, directing
their steps towards Coventry. A small guard was left over the
prisoners, with orders to remain behind about an hour, and then to
leave them and follow with all speed, in order that the departure of
the troops might be accomplished as secretly as possible. No trumpet
was sounded; and if it had been possible to carry out King Lear's
plan, and shoe a troop of horse with felt, it would have been upon the
present occasion.
Though that could not be accomplished, all their proceedings were
conducted with as much silence as possible; and Miss Walton, riding
between her brother and the Earl of Beverley, had plenty of time for
thought. The sky had changed from grey to purple and gold; the expanse
of the heavens had lost its glorious hues, as the sun rose up above
the horizon; and the morning of a somewhat dull and heavy day had
fully dawned ere any one spoke, except, indeed, when the few short
words of command and direction were necessary. The countenance of Lord
Walton was grave, and even sad; and his sister, who watched it with
some anxiety, at length inquired--
"Do you anticipate any great danger, Charles? You look very gloomy."
"Oh, no, dearest Annie," he answered; "I think we are so far before
our enemies that we shall without doubt be able to join the king
before they are aware of our departure. But I cannot think of being
obliged to leave that poor girl in the hands of that old hypocrite
Dry, without feeling very sad. If he treat her ill, woe be to him
should he and I ever meet again! but I trust he will be afraid to
endanger his sanctified reputation. That is my only hope."
The earl now joined in, with that tone of calm cheerfulness which is
the most persuasive of hope; and with the peculiar charms of his
conversation, and the continued and brilliant variety which it
displayed, led the thoughts of his companions to happier themes, and
almost made them believe that brighter days were before them. Since
the preceding night his manner had much changed towards Miss Walton:
there was a tenderness in it, a tone which can only be called the tone
of love; and though both were more silent than they previously had
been, yet each, in that silence, was thinking of the other, and it is
very dangerous so to do, unless we are disposed to yield to feelings
which in the end may master us altogether. Coquetry may talk, may
carry on uninterrupted observation and reply; indifference may pursue
the calm and easy current of conversation; and avowed and satisfied
love may hold unbroken communion upon all the many subjects of thought
and imagination; but in its early day true passion is fitful in its
eloquence, full of silence and interruptions, for it is full of
thought; and the voice of feeling is often the strongest when the lips
are motionless and the tongue is mute.
But we will dwell no more upon such matters, for we have action before
us instead of thought, deeds rather than sensations. After a march of
about four hours, and a short pause for refreshment, the advanced
party of the troop was seen to halt upon a small eminence, while one
of the troopers rode back at full speed, bringing the intelligence
that they descried a considerable body of men drawn up at a short
distance from Coventry.
"Are we so near?" said Miss Walton.
"Within three miles," replied the earl. "That is the spire of St.
Michael's Church rising over the slope. You will see the city as soon
as we pass the rise. Think you these are the king's troops, Major
Randal?"
"Ay, such troops as they are," answered the old officer; "we must have
more and better before we do much service."
"It will be as well to despatch some one to see," said Lord Walton. "I
will send two of my servants, major. Here, Langan and Hartup, ride on
with all speed, and bring me back news of the people who are before
Coventry. I cannot divine why the king should halt before the gates."
"There may be rogues within," said Major Randal. And so it proved;
for, on their arrival at the top of the slope, where Coventry, with
its wide walls and beautiful spires, rose fair before them, they saw a
fire of musketry opened from the city upon a small party of royalist
troops, which approached too near the gates.
Marching rapidly on, as soon as it was ascertained that the force they
saw was that of Charles himself, they soon reached the monarch's army,
if so it could be called, and Annie Walton found herself in the midst
of a new and animated scene.
The king's face expressed much grief and vexation, as, sitting upon a
powerful horse, he consulted with some of his principal officers as to
what was to be done on the rebellious refusal of Coventry, to give him
admission. But when he turned to receive the little reinforcement
which now joined him, his countenance assumed a glad and cheerful
look; and as Lord Walton, dismounting, approached his stirrup, he held
out his hand to him graciously, saying--
"Those are kind friends and loyal subjects, indeed, my lord, who rally
round their sovereign when more favoured men forsake him. Your own
presence, my good sir, is the best answer you could give to my
letters. We must retreat, I fear, however, from before these
inhospitable walls; for we have no cannon to blow open their gates,
and even if I had, I could wish to spare my subjects."
"Ah, sire!" said Major Randal, who had also advanced to the king's
side, "when subjects draw the sword against their king, both parties
should throw away the scabbard, for it is the blade must decide all."
"Too rough, and yet too true," said his majesty; and after a few more
words addressed to Lord Beverley and Miss Walton, the king turned his
horse, and rode off with his attendants towards Stonely, leaving the
small force by which he was accompanied to follow.