My native land, good night!
--BYRON.
Lady Peveril remained in no small anxiety for several hours after her
husband and the Countess had departed from Martindale Castle; more
especially when she learned that Major Bridgenorth, concerning whose
motions she made private inquiry, had taken horse with a party, and was
gone to the westward in the same direction with Sir Geoffrey.
At length her immediate uneasiness in regard to the safety of her
husband and the Countess was removed, by the arrival of Whitaker, with
her husband’s commendations, and an account of the scuffle betwixt
himself and Major Bridgenorth.
Lady Peveril shuddered to see how nearly they had approached to renewal
of the scenes of civil discord; and while she was thankful to Heaven for
her husband’s immediate preservation, she could not help feeling both
regret and apprehension for the consequences of his quarrel with Major
Bridgenorth. They had now lost an old friend, who had showed himself
such under those circumstances of adversity by which friendship is
most severely tried; and she could not disguise from herself that
Bridgenorth, thus irritated, might be a troublesome, if not a dangerous
enemy. His rights as a creditor, he had hitherto used with gentleness;
but if he should employ rigour, Lady Peveril, whose attention to
domestic economy had made her much better acquainted with her husband’s
affairs than he was himself, foresaw considerable inconvenience from the
measures which the law put in his power. She comforted herself with the
recollection, however, that she had still a strong hold on Bridgenorth,
through his paternal affection, and from the fixed opinion which he
had hitherto manifested, that his daughter’s health could only flourish
while under her charge. But any expectations of reconciliation which
Lady Peveril might probably have founded on this circumstance, were
frustrated by an incident which took place in the course of the
following morning.
The governante, Mistress Deborah, who has been already mentioned, went
forth, as usual, with the children, to take their morning exercise in
the Park, attended by Rachael, a girl who acted occasionally as her
assistant in attending upon them. But not as usual did she return. It
was near the hour of breakfast, when Ellesmere, with an unwonted degree
of primness in her mouth and manner, came to acquaint her lady that
Mistress Deborah had not thought proper to come back from the Park,
though the breakfast hour approached so near.
“She will come, then, presently,” said Lady Peveril with indifference.
Ellesmere gave a short and doubtful cough, and then proceeded to say,
that Rachael had been sent home with little Master Julian, and that
Mistress Deborah had been pleased to say, she would walk on with Miss
Bridgenorth as far as Moultrassie Holt; which was a point at which
the property of the Major, as matters now stood, bounded that of Sir
Geoffrey Peveril.
“Is the wench turned silly,” exclaimed the lady, something angrily,
“that she does not obey my orders, and return at regular hours?”
“She may be turning silly,” said Ellesmere mysteriously; “or she may
be turning too sly; and I think it were as well your ladyship looked to
it.”
“Looked to what, Ellesmere?” said the lady impatiently. “You are
strangely oracular this morning. If you know anything to the prejudice
of this young woman, I pray you speak it out.”
“I prejudice!” said Ellesmere; “I scorn to prejudice man, woman, or
child, in the way of a fellow-servant; only I wish your ladyship to look
about you, and use your own eyes--that is all.”
“You bid me use my own eyes, Ellesmere; but I suspect,” answered the
lady, “you would be better pleased were I contented to see through your
spectacles. I charge you--and you know I will be obeyed--I charge you to
tell me what you know or suspect about this girl, Deborah Debbitch.”
“I see through spectacles!” exclaimed the indignant Abigail; “your
ladyship will pardon me in that, for I never use them, unless a pair
that belonged to my poor mother, which I put on when your ladyship
wants your pinners curiously wrought. No woman above sixteen ever did
white-seam without barnacles. And then as to suspecting, I suspect
nothing; for as your ladyship hath taken Mistress Deborah Debbitch from
under my hand, to be sure it is neither bread nor butter of mine. Only”
(here she began to speak with her lips shut, so as scarce to permit a
sound to issue, and mincing her words as if she pinched off the ends
of them before she suffered them to escape),--“only, madam, if Mistress
Deborah goes so often of a morning to Moultrassie Holt, why, I should
not be surprised if she should never find the way back again.”
“Once more, what do you mean, Ellesmere? You were wont to have some
sense--let me know distinctly what the matter is.”
“Only, madam,” pursued the Abigail, “that since Bridgenorth came back
from Chesterfield, and saw you at the Castle Hall, Mistress Deborah has
been pleased to carry the children every morning to that place; and
it has so happened that she has often met the Major, as they call him,
there in his walks; for he can walk about now like other folks; and
I warrant you she hath not been the worse of the meeting--one way at
least, for she hath bought a new hood might serve yourself, madam; but
whether she hath had anything in hand besides a piece of money, no doubt
your ladyship is best judge.”
Lady Peveril, who readily adopted the more good-natured construction of
the governante’s motives, could not help laughing at the idea of a man
of Bridgenorth’s precise appearance, strict principles, and reserved
habits, being suspected of a design of gallantry; and readily concluded,
that Mistress Deborah had found her advantage in gratifying his parental
affection by a frequent sight of his daughter during the few days which
intervened betwixt his first seeing little Alice at the Castle, and the
events which had followed. But she was somewhat surprised, when, an
hour after the usual breakfast hour, during which neither the child nor
Mistress Deborah appeared, Major Bridgenorth’s only man-servant arrived
at the Castle on horseback, dressed as for a journey; and having
delivered a letter addressed to herself, and another to Mistress
Ellesmere, rode away without waiting any answer.
There would have been nothing remarkable in this, had any other person
been concerned; but Major Bridgenorth was so very quiet and orderly in
all his proceedings--so little liable to act hastily or by impulse, that
the least appearance of bustle where he was concerned, excited surprise
and curiosity.
Lady Peveril broke her letter hastily open, and found that it contained
the following lines:--
“_For the Hands of the Honourable and Honoured Lady Peveril--
These:_
“Madam--Please it your Ladyship,--I write more to excuse myself to
your ladyship, than to accuse either you or others, in respect
that I am sensible it becomes our frail nature better to confess
our own imperfections, than to complain of those of others.
Neither do I mean to speak of past times, particularly in respect
of your worthy ladyship, being sensible that if I have served you
in that period when our Israel might be called triumphant, you
have more than requited me, in giving to my arms a child,
redeemed, as it were, from the vale of the shadow of death. And
therefore, as I heartily forgive to your ladyship the unkind and
violent measure which you dealt to me at our last meeting (seeing
that the woman who was the cause of strife is accounted one of
your kindred people), I do entreat you, in like manner, to pardon
my enticing away from your service the young woman called Deborah
Debbitch, whose direction, is, it may be, indispensable to the
health of my dearest child. I had purposed, madam, with your
gracious permission, that Alice should have remained at Martindale
Castle, under your kind charge, until she could so far discern
betwixt good and evil, that it should be matter of conscience to
teach her the way in which she should go. For it is not unknown to
your ladyship, and in no way do I speak it reproachfully, but
rather sorrowfully, that a person so excellently gifted as
yourself--I mean touching natural qualities--has not yet received
that true light, which is a lamp to the paths, but are contented
to stumble in darkness, and among the graves of dead men. It has
been my prayer in the watches of the night, that your ladyship
should cease from the doctrine which causeth to err; but I grieve
to say, that our candlestick being about to be removed, the land
will most likely be involved in deeper darkness than ever; and the
return of the King, to which I and many looked forward as a
manifestation of divine favour, seems to prove little else than a
permitted triumph of the Prince of the Air, who setteth about to
restore his Vanity-fair of bishops, deans, and such like,
extruding the peaceful ministers of the word, whose labours have
proved faithful to many hungry souls. So, hearing from a sure
hand, that commission has gone forth to restore these dumb dogs,
the followers of Laud and of Williams, who were cast forth by the
late Parliament, and that an Act of Conformity, or rather of
deformity, of worship, was to be expected, it is my purpose to
flee from the wrath to come, and to seek some corner where I may
dwell in peace, and enjoy liberty of conscience. For who would
abide in the Sanctuary, after the carved work thereof is broken
down, and when it hath been made a place for owls, and satyrs of
the wilderness?--And herein I blame myself, madam, that I went in
the singleness of my heart too readily into that carousing in the
house of feasting, wherein my love of union, and my desire to show
respect to your ladyship, were made a snare to me. But I trust it
will be an atonement, that I am now about to absent myself from
the place of my birth, and the house of my fathers, as well as
from the place which holdeth the dust of those pledges of my
affection. I have also to remember, that in this land my honour
(after the worldly estimation) hath been abated, and my utility
circumscribed, by your husband, Sir Geoffrey Peveril; and that
without any chance of my obtaining reparation at his hand, whereby
I may say the hand of a kinsman was lifted up against my credit
and my life. These things are bitter to the taste of the old Adam;
wherefore to prevent farther bickerings, and, it may be,
bloodshed, it is better that I leave this land for a time. The
affairs which remain to be settled between Sir Geoffrey and
myself, I shall place in the hand of the righteous Master Joachim
Win-the-Fight, an attorney in Chester, who will arrange them with
such attention to Sir Geoffrey’s convenience, as justice, and the
due exercise of the law, will permit; for, as I trust I shall
have grace to resist the temptation to make the weapons of carnal
warfare the instruments of my revenge, so I scorn to effect it
through the means of Mammon. Wishing, madam, that the Lord may
grant you every blessing, and, in especial, that which is over all
others, namely, the true knowledge of His way, I remain, your
devoted servant to command, RALPH BRIDGENORTH.
“_Written at Moultrassie Hall, this tenth
day of July, 1660._”
So soon as Lady Peveril had perused this long and singular homily,
in which it seemed to her that her neighbour showed more spirit of
religious fanaticism than she could have supposed him possessed of,
she looked up and beheld Ellesmere,--with a countenance in which
mortification, and an affected air of contempt, seemed to struggle
together,--who, tired with watching the expression of her mistress’s
countenance, applied for confirmation of her suspicions in plain terms.
“I suppose, madam,” said the waiting-woman, “the fanatic fool intends to
marry the wench? They say he goes to shift the country. Truly it’s time,
indeed; for, besides that the whole neighbourhood would laugh him to
scorn, I should not be surprised if Lance Outram, the keeper, gave him a
buck’s head to bear; for that is all in the way of his office.”
“There is no great occasion for your spite at present, Ellesmere,”
replied her lady. “My letter says nothing of marriage; but it would
appear that Master Bridgenorth, being to leave this country, has engaged
Deborah to take care of his child; and I am sure I am heartily glad of
it, for the infant’s sake.”
“And I am glad of it for my own,” said Ellesmere; “and, indeed, for the
sake of the whole house.--And your ladyship thinks she is not like to be
married to him? Troth, I could never see how he should be such an idiot;
but perhaps she is going to do worse; for she speaks here of coming to
high preferment, and that scarce comes by honest servitude nowadays;
then she writes me about sending her things, as if I were mistress of
the wardrobe to her ladyship--ay, and recommends Master Julian to the
care of my age and experience, forsooth, as if she needed to recommend
the dear little jewel to me; and then, to speak of my age--But I will
bundle away her rags to the Hall, with a witness!”
“Do it with all civility,” said the lady, “and let Whitaker send her the
wages for which she has served, and a broad-piece over and above; for
though a light-headed young woman, she was kind to the children.”
“I know who is kind to their servants, madam, and would spoil the best
ever pinned a gown.”
“I spoiled a good one, Ellesmere, when I spoiled thee,” said the lady;
“but tell Mistress Deborah to kiss the little Alice for me, and to
offer my good wishes to Major Bridgenorth, for his temporal and future
happiness.”
She permitted no observation or reply, but dismissed her attendant,
without entering into farther particulars.
When Ellesmere had withdrawn, Lady Peveril began to reflect, with much
feeling of compassion, on the letter of Major Bridgenorth; a person in
whom there were certainly many excellent qualities, but whom a series of
domestic misfortunes, and the increasing gloom of a sincere, yet stern
feeling of devotion, rendered lonely and unhappy; and she had more than
one anxious thought for the happiness of the little Alice, brought
up, as she was likely to be, under such a father. Still the removal of
Bridgenorth was, on the whole, a desirable event; for while he remained
at the Hall, it was but too likely that some accidental collision with
Sir Geoffrey might give rise to a rencontre betwixt them, more fatal
than the last had been.
In the meanwhile, she could not help expressing to Doctor Dummerar
her surprise and sorrow, that all which she had done and attempted, to
establish peace and unanimity betwixt the contending factions, had been
perversely fated to turn out the very reverse of what she had aimed at.
“But for my unhappy invitation,” she said, “Bridgenorth would not have
been at the Castle on the morning which succeeded the feast, would not
have seen the Countess, and would not have incurred the resentment and
opposition of my husband. And but for the King’s return, an event which
was so anxiously expected as the termination of all our calamities,
neither the noble lady nor ourselves had been engaged in this new path
of difficulty and danger.”
“Honoured madam,” said Doctor Dummerar, “were the affairs of this world
to be guided implicitly by human wisdom, or were they uniformly to fall
out according to the conjectures of human foresight, events would no
longer be under the domination of that time and chance, which happen
unto all men, since we should, in the one case, work out our own
purposes to a certainty, by our own skill, and in the other, regulate
our conduct according to the views of unerring prescience. But man is,
while in this vale of tears, like an uninstructed bowler, so to speak,
who thinks to attain the jack, by delivering his bowl straight forward
upon it, being ignorant that there is a concealed bias within the
spheroid, which will make it, in all probability, swerve away, and lose
the cast.”
Having spoken this with a sententious air, the Doctor took his
shovel-shaped hat, and went down to the Castle green, to conclude a
match of bowls with Whitaker, which had probably suggested this notable
illustration of the uncertain course of human events.
Two days afterwards, Sir Geoffrey arrived. He had waited at Vale Royal
till he heard of the Countess’s being safely embarked for Man, and then
had posted homeward to his Castle and Dame Margaret. On his way, he
learned from some of his attendants, the mode in which his lady had
conducted the entertainment which she had given to the neighbourhood at
his order; and notwithstanding the great deference he usually showed
in cases where Lady Peveril was concerned, he heard of her liberality
towards the Presbyterian party with great indignation.
“I could have admitted Bridgenorth,” he said, “for he always bore him
in neighbourly and kindly fashion till this last career--I could have
endured him, so he would have drunk the King’s health, like a true
man--but to bring that snuffling scoundrel Solsgrace, with all his
beggarly, long-eared congregation, to hold a conventicle in my father’s
house--to let them domineer it as they listed--why, I would not have
permitted them such liberty, when they held their head the highest! They
never, in the worst of times, found any way into Martindale Castle but
what Noll’s cannon made for them; and that they should come and cant
there, when good King Charles is returned--By my hand, Dame Margaret
shall hear of it!”
But, notwithstanding these ireful resolutions, resentment altogether
subsided in the honest Knight’s breast, when he saw the fair features of
his lady lightened with affectionate joy at his return in safety. As he
took her in his arms and kissed her, he forgave her ere he mentioned her
offence.
“Thou hast played the knave with me, Meg,” he said, shaking his head,
and smiling at the same time, “and thou knowest in what manner; but I
think thou art true church-woman, and didst only act from silly womanish
fancy of keeping fair with these roguish Roundheads. But let me have no
more of this. I had rather Martindale Castle were again rent by their
bullets, than receive any of the knaves in the way of friendship--I
always except Ralph Bridgenorth of the Hall, if he should come to his
senses again.”
Lady Peveril was here under the necessity of explaining what she had
heard of Master Bridgenorth--the disappearance of the governante with
his daughter, and placed Bridgenorth’s letter in his hand. Sir Geoffrey
shook his head at first, and then laughed extremely at the idea that
there was some little love-intrigue between Bridgenorth and Mistress
Deborah.
“It is the true end of a dissenter,” he said, “to marry his own
maid-servant, or some other person’s. Deborah is a good likely wench,
and on the merrier side of thirty, as I should think.”
“Nay, nay,” said the Lady Peveril, “you are as uncharitable as
Ellesmere--I believe it but to be affection to his child.”
“Pshaw! pshaw!” answered the Knight, “women are eternally thinking of
children; but among men, dame, many one carresses the infant that he
may kiss the child’s maid; and where’s the wonder or the harm either, if
Bridgenorth should marry the wench? Her father is a substantial yeoman;
his family has had the same farm since Bosworthfield--as good a pedigree
as that of the great-grandson of a Chesterfield brewer, I trow. But let
us hear what he says for himself--I shall spell it out if there is any
roguery in the letter about love and liking, though it might escape your
innocence, Dame Margaret.”
The Knight of the Peak began to peruse the letter accordingly, but was
much embarrassed by the peculiar language in which it was couched. “What
he means by moving of candlesticks, and breaking down of carved work
in the church, I cannot guess; unless he means to bring back the large
silver candlesticks which my grandsire gave to be placed on the altar
at Martindale Moultrassie; and which his crop-eared friends, like
sacrilegious villains as they are, stole and melted down. And in like
manner, the only breaking I know of, was when they pulled down the rails
of the communion table (for which some of their fingers are hot enough
by this time), and when the brass ornaments were torn down from Peveril
monuments; and that was breaking and removing with a vengeance. However,
dame, the upshot is, that poor Bridgenorth is going to leave the
neighbourhood. I am truly sorry for it, though I never saw him oftener
than once a day, and never spoke to him above two words. But I see how
it is--that little shake by the shoulder sticks in his stomach; and yet,
Meg, I did but lift him out of the saddle as I might have lifted thee
into it, Margaret--I was careful not to hurt him; and I did not think
him so tender in point of honour as to mind such a thing much; but I
see plainly where his sore lies; and I warrant you I will manage that
he stays at the Hall, and that you get back Julian’s little companion.
Faith, I am sorry myself at the thought of losing the baby, and of
having to choose another ride when it is not hunting weather, than round
by the Hall, with a word at the window.”
“I should be very glad, Sir Geoffrey,” said the Lady Peveril, “that you
could come to a reconciliation with this worthy man, for such I must
hold Master Bridgenorth to be.”
“But for his dissenting principles, as good a neighbour as ever lived,”
said Sir Geoffrey.
“But I scarce see,” continued the lady, “any possibility of bringing
about a conclusion so desirable.”
“Tush, dame,” answered the Knight, “thou knowest little of such matters.
I know the foot he halts upon, and you shall see him go as sound as
ever.”
Lady Peveril had, from her sincere affection and sound sense, as good
a right to claim the full confidence of her husband, as any woman in
Derbyshire; and, upon this occasion, to confess the truth, she had more
anxiety to know his purpose than her sense of their mutual and separate
duties permitted her in general to entertain. She could not imagine what
mode of reconciliation with his neighbour, Sir Geoffrey (no very acute
judge of mankind or their peculiarities) could have devised, which might
not be disclosed to her; and she felt some secret anxiety lest the means
resorted to might be so ill chosen as to render the breach rather wider.
But Sir Geoffrey would give no opening for farther inquiry. He had been
long enough colonel of a regiment abroad, to value himself on the right
of absolute command at home; and to all the hints which his lady’s
ingenuity could devise and throw out, he only answered, “Patience, Dame
Margaret, patience. This is no case for thy handling. Thou shalt know
enough on’t by-and-by, dame.--Go, look to Julian. Will the boy never
have done crying for lack of that little sprout of a Roundhead? But we
will have little Alice back with us in two or three days, and all will
be well again.”
As the good Knight spoke these words, a post winded his horn in the
court, and a large packet was brought in, addressed to the worshipful
Sir Geoffrey Peveril, Justice of the Peace, and so forth; for he had
been placed in authority as soon as the King’s Restoration was put upon
a settled basis. Upon opening the packet, which he did with no small
feeling of importance, he found that it contained the warrant which he
had solicited for replacing Doctor Dummerar in the parish, from which he
had been forcibly ejected during the usurpation.
Few incidents could have given more delight to Sir Geoffrey. He could
forgive a stout able-bodied sectary or nonconformist, who enforced his
doctrines in the field by downright blows on the casques and cuirasses
of himself and other Cavaliers. But he remembered with most vindictive
accuracy, the triumphant entrance of Hugh Peters through the breach
of his Castle; and for his sake, without nicely distinguishing betwixt
sects or their teachers, he held all who mounted a pulpit without
warrant from the Church of England--perhaps he might also in
private except that of Rome--to be disturbers of the public
tranquillity--seducers of the congregation from their lawful
preachers--instigators of the late Civil War--and men well disposed to
risk the fate of a new one.
Then, on the other hand, besides gratifying his dislike to Solsgrace,
he saw much satisfaction in the task of replacing his old friend and
associate in sport and in danger, the worthy Doctor Dummerar, in his
legitimate rights and in the ease and comforts of his vicarage. He
communicated the contents of the packet, with great triumph, to the
lady, who now perceived the sense of the mysterious paragraph in Major
Bridgenorth’s letter, concerning the removal of the candlestick, and the
extinction of light and doctrine in the land. She pointed this out to
Sir Geoffrey, and endeavoured to persuade him that a door was now opened
to reconciliation with his neighbour, by executing the commission which
he had received in an easy and moderate manner, after due delay, and
with all respect to the feelings both of Solsgrace and his congregation,
which circumstances admitted of. This, the lady argued, would be doing
no injury whatever to Doctor Dummerar;--nay, might be the means of
reconciling many to his ministry, who might otherwise be disgusted with
it for ever, by the premature expulsion of a favourite preacher.
There was much wisdom, as well as moderation, in this advice; and, at
another time, Sir Geoffrey would have sense enough to have adopted it.
But who can act composedly or prudently in the hour of triumph? The
ejection of Mr. Solsgrace was so hastily executed, as to give it some
appearance of persecution; though, more justly considered, it was the
restoring of his predecessor to his legal rights. Solsgrace himself
seemed to be desirous to make his sufferings as manifest as possible.
He held out to the last; and on the Sabbath after he had received
intimation of his ejection, attempted to make his way to the pulpit, as
usual, supported by Master Bridgenorth’s attorney, Win-the-Fight, and a
few zealous followers.
Just as their party came into the churchyard on the one side, Doctor
Dummerar, dressed in full pontificals, in a sort of triumphal procession
accompanied by Peveril of the Peak, Sir Jasper Cranbourne, and other
Cavaliers of distinction, entered at the other.
To prevent an actual struggle in the church, the parish officers were
sent to prevent the farther approach of the Presbyterian minister; which
was effected without farther damage than a broken head, inflicted
by Roger Raine, the drunken innkeeper of the Peveril Arms, upon the
Presbyterian attorney of Chesterfield.
Unsubdued in spirit, though compelled to retreat by superior force, the
undaunted Mr. Solsgrace retired to the vicarage; where under some legal
pretext which had been started by Mr. Win-the-Fight (in that day
unaptly named), he attempted to maintain himself--bolted gates--barred
windows--and, as report said (though falsely), made provision of
fire-arms to resist the officers. A scene of clamour and scandal
accordingly took place, which being reported to Sir Geoffrey, he came in
person, with some of his attendants carrying arms--forced the outer-gate
and inner-doors of the house; and proceeding to the study, found no
other garrison save the Presbyterian parson, with the attorney, who gave
up possession of the premises, after making protestation against the
violence that had been used.
The rabble of the village being by this time all in motion, Sir
Geoffrey, both in prudence and good-nature, saw the propriety of
escorting his prisoners, for so they might be termed, safely through the
tumult; and accordingly conveyed them in person, through much noise and
clamour, as far as the avenue of Moultrassie Hall, which they chose for
the place of their retreat.
But the absence of Sir Geoffrey gave the rein to some disorders, which,
if present, he would assuredly have restrained. Some of the minister’s
books were torn and flung about as treasonable and seditious trash, by
the zealous parish-officers or their assistants. A quantity of his
ale was drunk up in healths to the King and Peveril of the Peak.
And, finally, the boys, who bore the ex-parson no good-will for his
tyrannical interference with their games at skittles, foot-ball, and so
forth, and, moreover, remembered the unmerciful length of his
sermons, dressed up an effigy with his Geneva gown and band, and his
steeple-crowned hat, which they paraded through the village, and burned
on the spot whilom occupied by a stately Maypole, which Solsgrace had
formerly hewed down with his own reverend hands.
Sir Geoffrey was vexed at all this and sent to Mr. Solsgrace, offering
satisfaction for the goods which he had lost; but the Calvinistical
divine replied, “From a thread to a shoe-latchet, I will not take
anything that is thine. Let the shame of the work of thy hands abide
with thee.”
Considerable scandal, indeed, arose against Sir Geoffrey Peveril as
having proceeded with indecent severity and haste upon this occasion;
and rumour took care to make the usual additions to the reality. It was
currently reported, that the desperate Cavalier, Peveril of the
Peak, had fallen on a Presbyterian congregation, while engaged in the
peaceable exercise of religion, with a band of armed men--had slain
some, desperately wounded many more, and finally pursued the preacher to
his vicarage which he burned to the ground. Some alleged the clergyman
had perished in the flames; and the most mitigated report bore, that he
had only been able to escape by disposing his gown, cap, and band,
near a window, in such a manner as to deceive them with the idea of his
person being still surrounded by flames, while he himself fled by the
back part of the house. And although few people believed in the extent
of the atrocities thus imputed to our honest Cavalier, yet still enough
of obloquy attached to him to infer very serious consequences, as the
reader will learn at a future period of our history.