The morning of Sunday, the 21st of October, broke dull and cold; the
grey clouds swept hurriedly over the sky, like charging squadrons, and
the wind whistled through the branches of a solitary clump of old
beeches, which marked the highest point of the sharp rise called
Edgehill. From the brow might be seen a wide open slope, extending
down nearly to the little town of Keinton, or Kineton, with some flat
meadows at the bottom, having a number of hedges and enclosures on the
left as one looked from the hill. On the other side all was at that
time open, and the fair undulations of Warwickshire might be seen
beyond, the brown woods clothed in a light mist. It was a peaceful and
pleasant scene in the grey morning, notwithstanding the coldness and
dulness of the day; and very soon after dawn the pale blue smoke began
to rise from the early chimneys of the little town, rising slow till
it was caught by the wind from the hill, and then hurrying away with a
few light rolls and losing itself in air.
Shortly after, a drum was heard to beat below, and then came the blast
of a trumpet, and soon troops might be descried forming slowly and
quietly in the plain, as if about to commence a safe and easy march.
Horse and foot took their places in long line, and here and there
officers and camp-followers were seen walking carelessly about, while
at the other spots some more rigid disciplinarians might be observed
putting their men into better order, and galloping hither and thither
in all the bustle of command.
Suddenly, however, some confusion was observed in one part of the
plain, where a group of gentlemen on horseback had been visible for
some time; and two persons detached themselves from the rest, and rode
up at full speed towards the brow of the hill, towards which all eyes
were now turned. What saw they there which caused such apparent
surprise? It was a small party of horse, not more than twenty in
number, which had just moved up from the other side, and now halted,
gazing into the valley. There were scarfs, and plumes, and glittering
arms amongst them, betokening no peaceful occupation; and after a
moment's pause, a trumpeter mounted on a grey horse put his instrument
to his lips, and blew a long, loud blast. The next moment fresh heads
appeared above the hedge, and troop after troop rode forward, and in
fair array took up a position at the summit.
All was changed on the plain below in a moment; activity and temporary
confusion succeeded the quiet regularity which before had been
observable. The two horsemen who had been detached to the group in
front were hurriedly recalled; musketeers were seen filing off to the
left; the cavalry was collected on the wings; the foot began to form
line in the centre; and the party which had remained a little in
advance were discovered moving slowly along quite across the valley,
while from time to time a horseman dashed away from it, and seemed to
convey orders to this or that regiment in different parts of the
field.
Essex was now first aware of the presence of an enemy, and easily
divined that he could march no farther without fighting; but it is
more with those above that we have to do. Soon after the small body of
Cavaliers on the hill had been discovered by the Roundhead army, up
came at headlong speed, followed by some eight or ten gentlemen who
could pace with him, a fiery-looking youth, with his beaver up and his
eye lightening with eager impetuosity. He seemed barely one-and-twenty
years of age; but there was on his brow the look of habitual command;
and in the quick roll of his eye over the parliamentary army, the
sudden pause it made here and there, and then its rapid turn towards
another point, one might see how closely he scanned the forces of the
enemy--how keenly he observed all that seemed worthy of attention.
"They see us, your highness," said one of the gentlemen who had
arrived before him. "They were actually commencing their march when we
appeared."
"They would not have marched far, my lord," replied Prince Rupert;
"but 'tis as well as it is. There are more of them than I thought, but
we must make valour supply numbers. I heard that they had left two
regiments behind at Stratford."
"There are, sir, two of infantry and one of cavalry," replied Lord
Walton; "but that seems to me the best of all reasons for giving
battle as soon as possible."
The very best, answered the prince, with a smile. "Victory is more
needful to us than food, and of that we have had no great plenty. But,
by my life, there is not a regiment of foot within sight! The foot are
sad encumbrances. Would that these times were like the days of old,
when every gentleman fought on horseback! We are fallen upon vulgar
days."
"I see the head of a regiment amongst those distant hedges," said the
Earl of Beverley; "but our quarters were very much scattered last
night."
"And some noble persons had fair young wives to visit, my good lord,"
replied the prince, bowing his head, with a smile.
"True," rejoined the earl; "but yet your highness sees they are not
the last in the field; as how should they be, when they have such
treasures to defend--such eyes for witnesses?"
The reply suited the prince well; and after some more gay conversation
he dismounted from his horse, and seated himself under one of the
beech-trees, watching attentively every movement of the enemy, and
from time to time pointing out to those around him the measures taken
by Lord Essex for defence.
"See!" he said; "he is filling those hedges with musketeers. Aston and
his dragoons must clear them. I will not break my teeth upon such
stones. He is forming a powerful reserve there, I suppose, under
Ramsay or the Earl of Bedford, and he has got all his foot in the
centre. Who is that on their left, I wonder? Well, I shall soon know,
for I trust it will not be long before I see him closer. Would to
heaven these tardy foot would come! We are giving him full time for
every arrangement he could desire and you may be sure he will not stir
from amongst those hedges till we dislodge him."
But the impatient prince had long to wait, for ten o'clock was near at
hand ere the first regiment of royal artillery was on the ground. From
that time, indeed, every quarter of an hour brought up some fresh
body; but even then the men had marched far and needed some
refreshment. All that could be given them was a brief space of repose
and some cold water, for provisions were not to be obtained. The
soldiery, however, were full of ardour, and many a gay jest and gibe
passed amongst those who were never destined to quit that plain.
Amongst other events that have been noticed by historians is the fact
that the king's guard, composed entirely of gentlemen volunteers,
having heard as they followed the monarch some slight scoffs at their
peculiar post near his person, besought him to dispense with their
close attendance that day, and obtained permission to charge with the
cavalry of Prince Rupert on the right. On the left a smaller body of
horse, commanded by Commissary-General Wilmot, and a regiment of
dragoons under Sir Arthur Aston, had the task of assailing the right
of the parliamentary army, protected as it was by enclosures lined
with musketeers; and to this service the small corps of the Earl of
Beverley was also assigned. Lord Walton fought upon the right under
the prince; and but one regiment of cavalry, led by Sir John Byron,
was kept back as a reserve.
One o'clock had passed, when at length, after a short consultation
with the Earl of Lindsay, the king commanded his forces to march
slowly down the hill towards Kineton. The distance was considerable;
and before the ground was reached on which it was thought advisable to
begin the battle, the day had so far advanced that some old and
experienced officers suggested a delay till the following morning. But
sufficient arguments were not wanting to show that Essex must gain and
his sovereign lose by such a course. The troops, too, were eager to
engage; and a very general belief prevailed that few of the
parliamentary regiments would really be brought to fight against their
king. In the confusion of all accounts, it is hardly to be discovered
how the battle really commenced; but certain it is that Prince Rupert
burst into fury at the very thought of delay, and that his force of
cavalry first commenced the fight by charging the left of the enemy.
As he was waiting to give the word, with all his blood on fire at the
thought of the approaching strife, he remarked Lord Walton twice turn
round and gaze towards the hill in the rear, and he asked, in a sharp
tone. "What look you for, my lord? Soldiers ever should look forward."
Charles Walton's brow became as dark as night, and it cost him a
moment's thought ere he could reply with calmness--
"I looked, sir, for one I thought I saw upon the hill as we moved
down; and as to the rest, Rupert of Bavaria has never been more
forward on the field, nor ever will be, than Charles Walton. But there
is other matter to attend to now. See you that regiment of horse
advancing to the charge?"
The prince looked round, and beheld a considerable body of the enemy
coming on at a quick pace, pistol in hand. He raised his sword above
his head, about to speak the word; but at that moment the opposite
party discharged their shot into the ground, and galloping on wheeled
their horses into line with the Cavaliers. A buzz ran through the
ranks of "Fortescue! Fortescue!" "He was forced to join the
Roundheads;" "Many more are in the like case;" and at the same moment
the cry of "Charge!" was heard; and, hurled like a thunderbolt against
the mass of the enemy's cavalry on the left, with the prince at their
head, the gallant force of Cavaliers rushed on. A fire, innocuous from
the terror and confusion with which it was directed, was opened upon
their advancing line; but ere swords crossed, the parliamentary
cavalry of the left wing, with the exception of one small body, turned
the rein and fled. The Cavaliers thundered on the flank and rear; men
and horses rolled over together, and foremost in the fight, wherever a
show of resistance was made, was the bridegroom of a day.
"Lightning and devils!" cried Captain Barecolt, who followed hard upon
his steps. "See what love will make a man do! He has distanced the
prince by six horse-lengths, and he will have that standard in a
minute. Come, my lord, let a man have his share."
On, on they rushed, pursuers and pursued, along the plain, over the
hill; down went steel jack, and buff coat, and iron morion. Some
turned at last to strike one stroke for life, but still the fiery
spurs of Rupert and of Walton were behind them, and Edgehill field was
far away when the prince himself cried--
"Halt! Sound to the standard! Stay, Walton, stay you have outstripped
me indeed."
Lord Walton drew his rein, but he raised not his visor,[1] for he felt
that he was pale.
---------------
[Footnote 1: We do not always remember that in the reign of Charles I.
the cavalry were in general defended by casques with moveable visors.
The dragoons, indeed, had usually an open helmet.]
---------------
"Methinks we are too far from the field, your highness," he replied.
"I will ride back with speed, for my men have followed close behind
me, while you rally the rest and bring them up. I fear some mischance,
for the king is without guards."
"Go, go!" said the prince, instantly perceiving the error that had
been committed; "I will come after with all speed. Sound trumpet!
Sound trumpet! Sound to the standard!"
"Call them back, Barecolt, and follow!" exclaimed Lord Walton. "Old
Randal is as mad as any of us. Bring him back quick. I fear we have
spoiled the best day's deeds England has seen for long;" and gathering
together what men he could, he spurred headlong back towards the
field. Captain Barecolt followed on his steps, and he thought he saw
the young lord waver somewhat in the saddle; a stream of blood, too,
was trickling down his scarf from his right shoulder, and spurring on
his horse to Charles Walton's side, he said, "You are wounded, sir;
you are badly wounded! Let me lead you to----"
But at that moment the field of battle came again before their eyes,
and Lord Walton exclaimed--
"Is this a time to talk of wounds? Look there!"
The aspect of the scene had indeed greatly changed from what it had
been some half-an-hour before, when Wilmot and Aston on the left, and
Rupert on the right, were driving the Roundhead cavalry before them.
Firm in his position stood the Earl of Essex with his foot. His
reserve of horse had come down and were charging the royal infantry.
The right wing, the left, and the reserve of Charles's horse were far
away, pursuing the flying foe; and the monarch himself with his two
sons, only guarded by a small force of mounted Cavaliers, who had been
too wise and loyal to follow the rash example set them by the prince
appeared nearly surrounded by the parliamentary cavalry under Sir
William Balfour.
As Lord Walton reappeared upon the field, the royal standard wavered
and fell, and in the midst of the fierce fire that rolled along the
front of the enemy's line, he charged upon the flank of Balfour's
horse to rescue his sovereign from the peril he was in. As they
galloped up, however, the standard rose again, and Essex's reserve
began slowly to retire upon the infantry; but still the young nobleman
urged on his little troop upon the retreating force; some fifty
gentlemen detached themselves from the small body that surrounded the
monarch, and charging in front, and cutting their way clear through,
Charles Walton and Francis of Beverley met in the midst of the
_mêlée_.
"How goes it, Charles?" said the earl, with a glad voice. "If the
prince would but return we would have a glorious victory!"
"He is coming quickly," replied Lord Walton. "Rally your force with
mine, Beverley, for one more charge;" and in another minute they were
again in the midst of the retreating rebels.
At the same moments in sad confusion and disarray, came back Prince
Rupert's Cavaliers. Discipline, and order were lost amongst them.
Officers were without men, and men without officers. Some few joined
the troops of Lord Beverley and Lord Walton.
But night was falling. Sir William Balfour led his horse in between
the regiments of infantry steadily and skilfully, then turned to face
the enemy; and the earl, finding that nothing could be effected
without a larger force, retreated and galloped up to Prince Rupert,
who now stood near the king, to urge one decisive charge upon the
centre of the parliamentary line. The prince received him coldly,
however--perhaps from a consciousness that he himself had done amiss;
and some one suggested that the king should leave the field, pointing
out how firmly Lord Essex kept his ground.
"For shame! for shame!" cried the earl. "The victory might still be
ours, but certainly it is not his; and as long as his majesty remains,
it cannot be so. The greater part of our foot is unbroken; our horse
is victorious; and, whoever quits the field, I will remain upon it,
dead or alive."
"And I too, most certainly, my lord," said Charles. "I will never do
so unkingly an act as to forsake them who have forsaken all to serve
me. There is no look of victory on my Lord of Essex's side. We keep
the field. Let them advance to attack us if they dare. Take measures
to withdraw those cannon from that little mound; restore what order
may be, for night is falling fast; and set a sure guard, that we be
not surprised."
For some time the discharge of musketry, which was still going on,
continued upon both sides; but gradually, as the darkness increased,
it slackened, revived, slackened again, fell into dropping shots, and
then fires began to appear along the line of either army, while all
the confusion and disarray which ever succeeds a drawn battle, where
the combatants are only parted by the night, took place on either
part. Hours were spent in giving some sort of order to the royalist
forces; officers sought their men, soldiers looked for their officers,
rumours of every kind were spread, and many accidents and
misadventures happened, which cannot here be told.
But there was one sad subject of thought that occupied many a
mind--"Who had fallen? Who remained wounded on the field?" It was
impossible to discover; for the confusion was so great that no one
knew where the other was to be found. Lord Beverley, however, had seen
Charles Walton almost to the latest moment of the strife, and in
sending off a messenger to Newington, to inform his fair bride of his
own safety, he ventured to add that her brother also had escaped the
slaughter of the day. About midnight, however, as he was lying by a
fire, he heard a step approach, and looking up he saw Barecolt beside
him.
The soldier's eyes gazed round the group, which lay in the glare, and
before the earl could speak he said--
"So he is not here?"
"Do you mean Lord Walton?" asked the earl.
"Ay, to be sure, my lord," replied Barecolt. "I have been seeking you
these two hours, and now we had better go and seek him, for depend
upon it he is on the field. He was badly wounded with a shot in the
side in that first charge, and he got another in the last; but perhaps
he is not dead yet. The night is cold, and that staunches blood."
"We have no lights," said the earl, a cold foreboding coming over his
heart. "Stay--the moon will be up in half-an-hour. Where saw you him
last?"
"Within half musket-shot of the second regiment on the right,"
answered Barecolt: "we had better wait, too, till the moon rises. She
will give some light, if she do not even chase the clouds; and yet I
would fain go soon, for I have strange doubts."
"Of what?" asked the earl.
"Nay, I do not well know," replied the soldier; "but I know one
thing--that sweet lady of his was not so far from the field as he
wished and others thought. Just as we were moving down, I saw her or
her ghost, and a countryman with his hand upon her horse's bridle, as
if leading him over the rough ground on the left. Her lord saw her,
too, or I am mistaken, for he more than once turned to look, and there
were words between him and the prince about it."
The earl put his hand to his brow, in that sort of painful dread
which, without taking any definite form, hangs like a dark cloud over
the whole range of destiny.
"You saw her near the field?" he said; "you saw her here? When was
this?"
"Why, I told you, my good lord--just as we were moving down, about one
of the clock," answered Captain Barecolt; "but there is a little
cottage, where a shepherd lives, up along the edge of the hill.
Perhaps she has taken refuge there; or, it may be, she has gone back."
"God grant it!" said the earl; "I will send up to the cottage to see
if she be there."
Barecolt, however, undertook the task himself, saying that in such a
piercing night the walk would warm him. But he found the cottage
deserted, and though there was sufficient light to guide him back to
the spot where the Earl of Beverley lay, the moon did not show herself
all night, the darkness remained as profound as ever, neither lantern
nor torch could be procured, and it was perfectly hopeless to attempt
a search under such circumstances. Weary hour by hour passed away
beside the fire, till it died away for want of fuel; but still,
notwithstanding all the fatigue that they had endured, Lord Beverley
and his companion sat wakeful till the dawn of morning, and during
their conversation Barecolt showed a depth of feeling and an interest
in the fate of Charles Walton and Arrah Neil which raised him much in
the opinion of the earl. As soon as the first grey streaks announced
the coming day, Lord Beverley was on horseback with his troop; but
there before him stood the parliamentary army, reinforced, rather than
diminished, since the night before. It was impossible to approach the
part of the field where Lord Walton had last been seen except with a
large force; but four pieces of the enemy's artillery were seen,
considerably in advance of their line in that direction; and at the
suggestion of Barecolt the earl asked and obtained leave to make a
charge with his own troop and that of Major Randal, to endeavour to
capture some of the cannon. This, as is well known, was effected early
in the morning, without much loss or opposition; but the chief object
of the earl, the discovering of his friend's body, could not be
accomplished.
The rest of the events of that day are familiar to every one. The
greater part of the morning was spent in consultations on the royalist
part, and in fruitless endeavours to induce the officers to make one
great effort against the enemy, till, towards evening, both armies
began to retire, the first movement of retreat being made by the
parliament forces, which were followed for a considerable distance by
the royalist cavalry.
For ten miles the Earl of Beverley joined in the pursuit, but then
obtained leave to return to the field, and his sad search began.
It was long protracted, and night was again beginning to fall when a
low fierce growl, as he walked along one of the hedges on the right,
called his attention to a pit which had been dug at the foot of a
small oak tree. A little path ran down amongst some bushes, and
hurrying along it, with Barecolt and several of his men, he reached
the bottom.
There they found two or three wounded soldiers, who had dragged
themselves thither to die; but in the midst was the saddest sight of
all. Prone upon the ground, with the head uncovered, lay the body of
Charles Walton; but that head was pillowed on the arm of poor Arrah
Neil. Her lips seemed to have been pressed upon his, for her fair face
had fallen forward upon his neck, and her bosom rested on his steel
cuirass, while her left arm hung over him, the hand half clasping his
right. Beside them, gazing down upon the poor girl, with drooping ears
and tail, stood the gaunt stag-hound, and the faithful beast turned
fiercely upon the first man who approached. He recognised the earl,
however, and took a step or two forward towards him with a faint howl,
and then returned and gazed again on her with whom he had sported in
her childhood.
Lord Beverley knelt down and gently took her hand: it was cold as ice;
but there was a keen frost, and he touched her cheek, removing the
rich ringlets of her hair, which had fallen over her face. There was
some warmth left; and raising her in his arms he directed her to be
carried into the little town of Kineton, now in possession of the
royalist cavalry, with the body of her husband.
But Arrah never spoke again. It was evident that she had come in time
to receive the last breath of him she loved, for the fingers of Lord
Walton's left hand were found tightly closed upon her garments; but
how she had found him, or when, could not be discovered. All that was
ever learned was, that one of the ploughmen of the farm at Newington
had guided her to Edgehill, and that from the summit she had witnessed
the battle below; but at night, as she would not return, the man had
left her, and all the rest was darkness. Every effort was made to
recal her to herself, but all was in vain; and in about two hours
after she had been removed to Kineton, the last feeble spark of life
that was left went out; and she was buried in the same grave with her
husband, in less than a week from her marriage-day.
Such was the fate of one of the fairest and the gentlest of human
beings. It would be a sad fact, that virtue and good conduct, that the
highest qualities of the mind and the heart, cannot always command
success or ensure happiness but that we have the grand assurance, both
in God's Word and in God's goodness, that there is a place where there
is compensation and reward. That the very brightest and the very best
of human efforts often do not obtain their recompense here, has been
admitted by the most sceptical of philosophers as a strong evidence of
a future state. Our hopes and expectations are founded on a higher and
better basis, and we are permitted to see, even in the sorrows of the
good, the trial of that faith which is the assurance of immortality.
We might well close our history here, and close it in sadness; but, as
there are almost always some mitigating circumstances in the course of
disastrous events, we may be allowed to take off a little from the
tragic character of the conclusion of this tale by speaking of the
after history of other persons who have figured in the scene; and the
reader is always anxious more or less to hear the ultimate fate of
those in whom he has taken an interest.
To speak of the more important personages, then:--In the first place,
it may well be supposed that the Earl of Beverley mourned sincerely
for his friend, and his grief was somewhat aggravated by the powers of
imagination; for the fact that his persuasions had been the immediate
cause of Lord Walton joining the royal standard connected itself
closely with the dream which he had had in prison, and brought a
shadow over him whenever the events of the day gave him time for
thought. He himself went safely through all the scenes of the civil
war, remaining uninjured, except from a slight wound which he received
at Long Marston Moor. His fair lady followed him as closely as was
possible throughout the whole of those eventful times, and she was as
happy as unchanging love and affection could make her amidst the
disasters of her country and the overthrow of the royal house to which
she was attached. The fall of her brother and the death of his gentle
bride affected Annie Walton deeply, and it was long ere she regained
the original cheerfulness of her character; but that cheerfulness
depended as much upon principle as upon mood, and instead of
encouraging grief, she made every effort to regain her serenity.
After the total ruin of the Cavalier party, the earl and his wife
retired to France, and continued to live there in almost total
seclusion till the restoration of the house of Stuart brought them
back to their native land, where, though they met with the neglect
which, in those days, as it is in all, was too frequently the reward
of good services, they bore it with perfect indifference, happy in
mutual affection, and requiring nothing else to complete their
felicity.
A short time before they quitted England, Lady Margaret Langley had
left the troublous scene in which they were still moving, for the
repose of that quiet mansion which she had long looked to only as a
place of rest. But there is still one personage of whose after history
we must say a few words. Captain Deciduous Barecolt continued to serve
the king as long as any services could be available, and in no point
or particular did he derogate from his high-established character. He
fought as well, he drank as deeply, he lied as vigorously as we have
seen him do in the past narrative; and, though in the succeeding wars
he got into a thousand scrapes, in which it required all the genius of
a Barecolt to extricate his neck from the halter or his throat from
the knife, he contrived, with marvellous ingenuity, to find his way
out of circumstances which would have overwhelmed any common man. Nor
was he absent from Worcester field; on the contrary, some have
asserted that he was taken prisoner on that occasion, and contrived to
deceive the keenness of Cromwell himself. Certain it is, that after
the restoration of Charles II. Barecolt returned to England, presented
himself at Bishop's Merton, put in a claim to the property of Mr. Dry,
of Longsoaken, as the direct heir of old Nicholas Cobalter, and having
proved that the will under which Mrs. Cobalter had possessed his
uncle's property was a forgery, he established such a debt against the
estate of Mr. Dry as speedily rendered him the master of Longsoaken.
There he continued to reside with an elderly man named Falgate, who
played the character, partly of dependant, partly of attached friend,
till he had well-nigh reached the age of eighty years, when, with a
form somewhat bowed, a face somewhat white, and a nose which had
gradually turned from red to blue, Colonel Barecolt, of Longsoaken,
sank quietly into the grave, his last words being, "The pottle-pot's
empty, Diggory."
THE END.
WOODFALL AND KINDER, PRINTERS, LONG ACRE, LONDON.