dainties than that. We have as good ale, as ever Oliver himself
brewed at Huntingdon. Nay, I should like to have a chat with him,
over some of it. Sentinel, throw Obadiah a loaf.”
The herald, who did not seem by any means over-fed, caught the
descending bread, and stowed it about his person.
“Now, fool, return and tell Oliver that we despise his vengeance,
and laugh at his mercy.”
“Then,” exclaimed the angry and indignant messenger, “a voice
against Lancaster, a voice against the Castle, a voice against--”
“Yourself. A voice against yourself,” and a well aimed ball, from
the governor’s pistol, brought him to the ground, from off his
steed.
The report could not have been heard from the hill, where
Cromwell’s troops were posted, but the herald’s fall must have been
noticed, as instantly active preparations for the attack seemed
to be making, and soon several pieces of cannon opened their fire
upon the castle in close volley. From the upper batteries it was
returned, and from the loop holes over the strong arched gateway,
muskets were fired upon those of the Roundhead soldiers, who had
broken down the gates of the town, and were advancing furiously.
“Prevent them,” cried the governor, “from recovering the dead body
of their comrade. Let him at least be useful in his death, and be a
meal to the crows and the vultures.”
But although the musketry wrought havock among the Roundheads who
approached, they bore off Obadiah, whilst they put to the sword all
the inhabitants whom they met scouring the streets in their fear.
They returned reinforced, in spite of the cannon, which was now
also turned against them, and they entered the church, and from the
broken windows took aim at the besieged with their muskets.
Cromwell remained with the soldiers on the hill, and was seen
whenever the dense smoke was occasionally rolled away by sharp
breezes which arose, walking from cannon to cannon, encouraging and
giving directions. Many a ball was aimed at him, but he seemed to
escape unhurt.
“Old Noll, is invincible,” said one of the soldiers, “for, now, I
loaded my musket with a silver coin, and took such a correct aim,
that I could have wagered that the very wart on his nose would
receive the charge, and yet, there he is moving about, and raising
his prospective glass. He is the son of a witch!”
Throughout the whole summer’s day the cannons thundered. They
had taken effect upon the highest battlements, as well as on the
gateway, for these were sadly shattered. Many of the Royalists had
fallen as they sallied forth upon the Roundheads, in the church;
and a few had been wounded, as they manned the castle walls and
served the cannon. But the governor, a brave old man, refused to
surrender, as long as one stone of the fortress was left.
“See, my soldiers, the flag of Charles, still waves true to him,
although it be in rags. Let us be as faithful.”
At sunset, a signal of truce was displayed, on the hill, and
the cannons ceased; but the party who had occupied the church
still kept up the fire, and the governor directed his men not
to cannonade the church but to retire to the turrets, where the
roundhead musketry would be harmless. As night came on, the inmates
of the church, however, found that there was little good cheer
to be had in Zion. The vestry had been ransacked, the communion
cups examined, but no wine could be found, and there was not bread
enough to supper a church mouse.
“Well,” exclaimed one, “it is of no use firing, let us barricade
the doors, and compose ourselves to rest. I choose the pulpit for
my bed. Soft cushions to dose on!”
The same spirit of sleep had descended upon the soldiers of the
castle, and even some of the sentries were stretched out on the
battlements. The governor and his son, did not awake them, as they
walked together. Their eyes were fixed upon the enemy’s camp, when
suddenly a wide flash was seen, and a cannon shot struck against
the turrets. The firing continued, and soon, it was as regularly
returned, when loud shouts arose within the lower courts. The next
moment a party of roundheads were among the governor’s men, headed
by Cromwell and Captain Birch, who had just arrived to act in
concert with the general. The governor was seized and bound, and,
along with his son, placed under a strong guard, while his men were
put to the sword, overcome by the unexpected attack. The Royal flag
was lowered, and in a short time the castle was in the possession
of the roundhead troops!
“Captain,” said Cromwell, “our stratagem has succeeded. By playing
the cannon, we diverted their attention to the hill where we were
posted, and thus we advanced unseen. But where is the gallant
officer of your department, who led the way, and clambered up the
gateway?”
“Here he is, general, and true stuff he is made of. He was captured
by the royalists a few months ago: but last week he effected his
escape. Montressor, stand forward, and receive the thanks of
General Cromwell, for your bravery.”
It was Arthur Montressor. Cromwell warmly extolled his services,
even whilst he reminded him, “that not unto us, but unto God’s name
be the glory.”
“General,” said Montressor, as he humbly bowed, “might I ask a
favour, which can be of no interest in you to deny. Will you grant
me leave of absence from the troops, for this night?”
“Absence!” returned the general, in a harsh voice, “and for what
would you take absence? For some nocturnal appointment with a fair
one?--young man you are silent: it must be as I have guessed. Then
take my unqualified denial. No such license here,” and he turned
away abruptly.
“Montressor,” said Birch, as he was about to accompany Cromwell,
“you remain in the castle all night. Should you disobey, our
sentries have the same liberty to treat you as they would the
captive governor. Good night!”
Montressor stood for a moment motionless.
“The governor!--thank God that I have not left the castle!”
Early on the following morning Cromwell, attended by his officers,
entered the apartment where the governor was confined. They found
him asleep. Cromwell put his finger to his lips, and motioned
them to the window, where they stood in silence. It commanded a
wide view of the lawn in front, where the hill was almost a flat
plain. Sheep and kine were browsing on the grass, and suggested
images of rural peace and retirement, as if it had not been the
seat of war a few hours previous. From their own thoughts they were
aroused by the door of the apartment being cautiously opened.
As they themselves stood in a recess, not directly opposite the
door, they could watch without being observed. Nothing but a hand
groping the way, and two bright eyes gleaming in the shade of the
staircase, could be seen. The next moment a tall form, shrouded in
a horseman’s cloak, moved silently in. He looked at the sleeper.
His hand trembled as it was raised to the brow. He started, as if
moved with some sudden resolution, drew forth a pistol, and fired
it in the direction of the governor. He threw back his cloak, and
perceiving that the ball had not been true to its mark, drew his
sword, and rushed forward;--but Cromwell and his officers stood
before him.
“Montressor! Beware!” thundered forth Cromwell, as he seized the
youth’s arm.
The report had startled the governor.
“Ha! traitors! cowardly traitors! Do I see aright? Is it Cromwell
who has played the ruffian? Cromwell,--after pledging my life to
myself in the most solemn oath? And that whilst I was asleep!
Base,--cowardly, was the act. And why shouldst thou have made the
young man your tool? Could not your own withered hands have been
stained with my blood, and not the white hands of innocent youth?
Base, cowardly!”
“Thou doest me wrong,” replied the general, as calmly as if he had
been rebutting a slight and unimportant accusation, “as these my
officers, and as the assassin himself can testify. I had entered
to propose to you my terms of a negociation with you. You were
asleep, and, old man, I had no desire to prevent you enjoying a
transient solace. This assassin,--villain I will call him, though
he belongs to my troops, entered and fired. Wretch,” and he turned
upon Montressor, whilst he stamped in fury, and the sweat broke out
on his massive forehead for very anger, “why hast thou dared to
inflict death, when I, your general, gave my oath that he should be
in safety?”
He became more calm, but his eye relaxed not its awful sternness,
although his voice was low as he added,
“Young man, allow me to unbuckle thy sword,--nay, no scruples--and
prepare to die!”
All started. Cromwell turned round upon them with a look that
forbade remonstrance.
“I refuse not,” proudly answered Montressor, “to die. But listen
to my motives for attempting the life of that man. I loved. Oh!
she was fair, gentle, and happy, as a spirit of heaven! General,
smile not in scorn. Does a dying man rave in a foolish and romantic
strain? She was more than an angel to me. She would have been
my wife! But her father was murdered, and she was an orphan,
deprived of her home; herself,--almost a maniac. Yes, she was mad
when her condemned father placed her hand in mine, and betrothed
us together, for ever and ever. And who was the murderer? Sir
governor,--tell me who caused the death of Sir John Evelyn?”
The governor covered his face with his hands. Cromwell started up
from the chair which he had taken.
“Sir John Evelyn! Where is his daughter? Young man, be brief, and
answer me. Is she in the care of a miller and his wife, at a short
distance from Lancaster?”
“There I left her. But I have been, ever since, a captive, and when
I asked permission to leave the castle last night, in order that I
might obtain information concerning her fate, you denied me. She
may be dead. It would be well!”
“She is alive,” muttered Cromwell, as he again seated himself.
“Young man,” said the governor in a kind tone, “you would forgive
me if you knew all. I have, since the death of Sir John, learned
with inexpressible regret, that the evidence which I gave against
him had been artfully arranged, so that I might be deceived. I
have often declared his innocence. And, General Cromwell, if you
will listen to the prayers of a Royalist, and one whose life he
has attempted--for which offence you have condemned him; oh!
grant him a pardon, and his life! It was but natural, nay, it was
praiseworthy to seek my life!”
Cromwell shook his head.
“It cannot be. Discipline must be enforced. I saw the maiden of
this youth’s affection and troth. She is a very Rebecca, beautiful
and discreet. I promised to avenge her father’s death. Yet my oath
of safety to you has been pledged;--and woe be to him who attempts
to make a word of mine of non-effect! Captain Birch, order five of
the musketeers to load; and bring out the troops in the front of
the castle. I give you half an hour.”
The captain, as he went out, frequently turned round to see whether
Cromwell might not relent, and forbid such a stern order from being
carried into effect--but no!--
“Not for my own sake,” pled Montressor, “but for that of the
orphan, do I ask my life. For my own services in a just cause,
I esteem them as nothing; but to die such a death, seems a poor
recompense even for a faithful dog. General, grant me life for Mary
Evelyn’s sake!”
He knelt,--and along with him the governor and all his officers.
“It cannot be,” was the decisive reply. “But, young man, you shall
have writing materials, if you have anything to charge to the
living. Let them be brought.”
Montressor, with a trembling hand, wrote a letter to Mary Evelyn,
and as he finished it, the drum was heard without.
“To whom can I assign my last duty?”
“To me,” replied the governor. “Trust me, that if I can make any
reparation for the past, I shall.”
“It is well,” remarked Cromwell, in cold-hearted cruelty,--“If any
man wrong another, let him return good, fourfold.”
Montressor, after this, was firm and collected. But for the slight
quiver on his lips, it could not have been known that he was going
to his death.
“Sir Governor,” he once more asked, “wilt thou be kind to her? Hast
thou a daughter, to love her as a sister?”
“No--I have but a son, and he--”
“Cannot, cannot comfort her,” interrupted Montressor with some
bitterness.
“Yet I know a knight,” returned the governor, “whose daughters are
well known for kindness and charity. Sarah and Madeline Bradley, on
knowing her history, will find her a home with them.”
“A home! Poor Mary, her best home will be the grave! There is my
letter. Were it not that the sight would be horrible, I should die
with this letter in my hand, and you would send to her, that she
might receive it from myself! Farewell! I entered this room, a few
minutes ago, with the intention of taking your life, and now I
leave it to lose mine own!”
Cromwell opened the door.
“There is your way. Young man, I trust to your honour, therefore
you remain unshackled to die.”
Already the soldiers were drawn out before the castle. The five
musketeers who were commissioned to carry the sentence into
execution stood in advance, their muskets in hand. Montressor took
his place.
“Kneel,” said Cromwell.
“Yes, to heaven,” was the reply.
“Stay,” exclaimed the general, as he rushed forth in a burst of
tenderness. The condemned youth started joyfully up. Hope was
kindled.
“Young man, I love thee as a son. Take my embrace,” and he threw
his arms around Montressor. “Look--for no other but you, a dying
man, must see Cromwell weep!--Look at these tears. Now, my son.
Yes, my very son, farewell!”
Montressor sunk upon his knees in despair. He waved his hand to the
musketeers, and soon their duty was performed.
Cromwell himself raised the lifeless body, and sternly said to the
soldiers,
“Let all, let each beware! Justice and duty are unrelenting, even
to the brave and the beloved!”
* * * * *
Well did the governor perform his pledge. The fatal news were
communicated to Mary Evelyn by Madeline Bradley, who, heart-broken
herself, knew how to feel for a sister sufferer. Sir Robert’s
mansion was the orphan’s home. She and Madeline took short walks
together, sat together in the same easy chair, and slept together.
Hand in hand they were bound for the tomb, and the foot of the one
seemed not to be before that of the other.
The governor, every day, (for he had no longer the charge of the
castle,) came, and conversed with her, whose father he had been the
innocent cause of betraying to death. His son attached himself to
the company of Sarah Bradley. The heart-broken sufferers, saw their
mutual affection, and kindly fostered it. Often too, did the worthy
miller and his wife make their appearance, and they were always
welcome.
It was near midnight, and Madeline and Mary were alone in their
apartment. They lay in each other’s arms, gazing, at times,
involuntarily upon the white counterpane, on which the moonshine
fell. They spoke not, but the gentle and low breathing assured
them, that they had pined away together, and were now almost spent,
and ready to go.
“Madeline, sweet Madeline,” said Mary, “Sarah will be a bride, in
a month--we shall both be brides in a few hours, nay, in a few
minutes. Let us be calm, for soon we meet our lovers.”
“Yes, my Mary, kiss me! We need not call for my father and Sarah.
We are very happy alone. Another sigh, and all will be over. Kiss
me again.”
“Yes, Madeline,” and a gentle breeze came in at the casement, and a
sweet ray of the moon came to these gentler and sweeter faces--but
the maidens were no more!
We may mention, that, in a few days after the siege, Cromwell left
Lancaster Castle in the charge of a part of his troops. Soon,
however, it was recaptured by the exertions of the gallant Earl of
Derby.
* * * * *
_R. Cocker, Printer, Market-place, Wigan._
The Publisher, when the foregoing preface was in type, and when,
in the midst of active preparations to commence another volume,
received a communication from the Author to the effect, that his
pen was of no more service. How it has been taken away from him it
can do the public no good to explain:--suffice it for the Publisher
to assert that circumstances have been forced on, which are
infinitely more painful than a want of ability, or material in the
author; a want of encouragement from a kind and numerous public; or
a want of determination on his own part to continue and extend the
work.
The Author had intended, as will be seen in the preface, to write a
series of historical scenes,--scenes of surpassing interest:--the
Subscribers, numerous at the very first, were continually
increasing, especially among the higher classes:--the Publisher was
opening new agencies, receiving new congratulations, and employing
new resources, when an event occured totally unexpected, which
compels him, most reluctantly, to withdraw the pledge so often
given, that other Legends were to issue from his press.
_Wigan, May 22, 1841._
Transcriber’s Notes:
Page numbers 273 and 274 were used twice by the printer. The first
set of pages is left unnumbered in this eBook.
Missing and extra punctuation probably introduced at printing
corrected. Period punctuation, spelling and inconsistent
hyphenation retained.
On page 30, “strange” changed to “stranger” (health and safety of
the stranger)
On page 53, missing hyphen added (not to-night; the air is chill.)
On page 59, missing hyphen added (changed parties to-day)
On page 107, capitalization corrected (discourse last Sunday)
On page 136, “dissaude” changed to “dissuade” (tried all her arts
to dissuade)
On page 156, “mischievions” changed to “mischievous” (the
mischievous girl)
On page 247, capitalization corrected (pensive eye of Lady Mabel)
On page 261, “Hs” changed to “He” (He was a noble boy)
On page 264, “frighful” changed to “frightful” (into that frightful
gallery)
On page 285, missing space added (beside his lady, his sword drawn)
On page 286, extra word “the” removed (instantly the door was
secured)
On page 294, “siezed” changed to “seized” (seized by two armed men)
On page 295, missing word “of” added (the charge of one of the
guards)
On page 299, extra word “as” removed (exposed as I am)
On page 316, “Montresser” changed to “Montressor” (said Montressor
above, and he gently disengaged)
On page 348, missing hyphen added (He might perish to-morrow)