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diff --git a/9785-h/9785-h.htm b/9785-h/9785-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea44544 --- /dev/null +++ b/9785-h/9785-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,27104 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Woodstock; or, The Cavalier, by Sir Walter Scott</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.left {text-align: left; + margin-left: 20%; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Woodstock; or, The Cavalier, by Sir Walter Scott</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Woodstock; or, The Cavalier</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Sir Walter Scott</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 16, 2003 [eBook #9785]<br /> +[Most recently updated: June 26, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Lee Dawei, David King and PG Distributed Proofreaders</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODSTOCK; OR, THE CAVALIER ***</div> + +<h1>Woodstock</h1> + +<h3>or,<br/> +The Cavalier</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Sir Walter Scott</h2> + +<p class="center"> +1855. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref01">INTRODUCTION—1832</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref02">APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref03">No. I. THE WOODSTOCK SCUFFLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref04">No. II. THE JUST DEVIL OF WOODSTOCK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref05">THE PREFACE TO THE ENSUING NARRATIVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref06">PREFACE </a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER THE FIRST.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER THE SECOND.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER THE THIRD.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER THE FOURTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER THE FIFTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER THE SIXTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER THE NINTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER THE TENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">CHAPTER THE THIRTY SECOND.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>WOODSTOCK;<br/> +<small><small>OR</small></small><br/> +THE CAVALIER</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<small>A TALE OF THE YEAR SIXTEEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY-ONE</small> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="letter"> +He was a very perfect gentle Knight. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +C<small>HAUCER</small> +</p> + +<h2><a name="pref01"></a>INTRODUCTION—(1832.)</h2> + +<p> +The busy period of the great Civil War was one in which the character and +genius of different parties were most brilliantly displayed, and, accordingly, +the incidents which took place on either side were of a striking and +extraordinary character, and afforded ample foundation for fictitious +composition. The author had in some measure attempted such in Peveril of the +Peak; but the scene was in a remote part of the kingdom, and mingled with other +national differences, which left him still at liberty to glean another harvest +out of so ample a store. +</p> + +<p> +In these circumstances, some wonderful adventures which happened at Woodstock +in the year 1649, occurred to him as something he had long ago read of, +although he was unable to tell where, and of which the hint appeared +sufficient, although, doubtless, it might have been much better handled if the +author had not, in the lapse of time, lost every thing like an accurate +recollection of the real story. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until about this period, namely, 1831, that the author, being called +upon to write this Introduction, obtained a general account of what really +happened upon the marvellous occasion in question, in a work termed “The +Every-day Book,” published by Mr. Hone, and full of curious antiquarian +research, the object being to give a variety of original information concerning +manners, illustrated by curious instances, rarely to be found elsewhere. Among +other matter, Mr. Hone quotes an article from the British Magazine for 1747, in +the following words, and which is probably the document which the author of +Woodstock had formerly perused, although he was unable to refer to the source +of his information. The tract is entitled, “The Genuine History of the +good Devil of Woodstock, famous in the world, in the year 1649, and never +accounted for, or at all understood to this time.” +</p> + +<p> +The teller of this “genuine history” proceeds verbatim as follows: +</p> + +<p> +“Some original papers having lately fallen into my hands, under the name +of ‘Authentic Memoirs of the Memorable Joseph Collins of Oxford, commonly +known by the name of Funny Joe, and now intended for the press,’ I was +extremely delighted to find in them a circumstantial and unquestionable account +of the most famous of all invisible agents, so well known in the year 1649, +under the name of the Good Devil of Woodstock, and even adored by the people of +that place, for the vexation and distress it occasioned some people they were +not much pleased with. As this famous story, though related by a thousand +people, and attested in all its circumstances, beyond all possibility of doubt, +by people of rank, learning, and reputation, of Oxford and the adjacent towns, +has never yet been generally accounted for, or at all understood, and is +perfectly explained, in a manner that can admit of no doubt, in these papers, I +could not refuse my readers the pleasure it gave me in reading.” +</p> + +<p> +There is, therefore, no doubt that, in the year 1649, a number of incidents, +supposed to be supernatural, took place at the King’s palace of +Woodstock, which the Commissioners of Parliament were then and there +endeavouring to dilapidate and destroy. The account of this by the +Commissioners themselves, or under their authority, was repeatedly published, +and, in particular, is inserted as relation sixth of Satan’s Invisible +World Discovered, by George Sinclair, Professor of Philosophy in Glasgow, an +approved collector of such tales. +</p> + +<p> +It was the object of neither of the great political parties of that day to +discredit this narrative, which gave great satisfaction both to the cavaliers +and roundheads; the former conceiving that the license given to the demons, was +in consequence of the impious desecration of the King’s furniture and +apartments, so that the citizens of Woodstock almost adored the supposed +spirits, as avengers of the cause of royalty; while the friends of the +Parliament, on the other hand, imputed to the malice of the fiend the +obstruction of the pious work, as they judged that which they had in hand. +</p> + +<p> +At the risk of prolonging a curious quotation, I include a page or two from Mr. +Hone’s Every-day Book. +</p> + +<p> +“The honourable the Commissioners arrived at Woodstock manor-house, +October 13th, and took up their residence in the King’s own rooms. His +Majesty’s bedchamber they made their kitchen, the council-hall their +pantry, and the presence-chamber was the place where they sat for despatch of +business. His Majesty’s dining-room they made their wood-yard, and stowed +it with no other wood but that of the famous Royal Oak from the High Park, +which, that nothing might be left with the name of the King about it, they had +dug up by the roots, and bundled up into fagots for their firing. +</p> + +<p> +“October 16. This day they first sat for the despatch of business. In the +midst of their first debate there entered a large black dog (as they thought), +which made a terrible howling, overturned two or three of their chairs, and +doing some other damage, went under the bed, and there gnawed the cords. The +door this while continued constantly shut, when, after some two or three hours, +Giles Sharp, their secretary, looking under the bed, perceived that the +creature was vanished, and that a plate of meat that the servants had hid there +was untouched, and showing them to their honours, they were all convinced there +could be no real dog concerned in the case; the said Giles also deposed on +oath, that, to his certain knowledge, there was not. +</p> + +<p> +“October 17. As they were this day sitting at dinner in a lower room, +they heard plainly the noise of persons walking over head, though they well +knew the doors were all locked, and there could be none there. Presently after +they heard also all the wood of the King’s Oak brought by parcels from +the dining-room, and thrown with great violence into the presence-chamber, as +also the chairs, stools, tables, and other furniture, forcibly hurled about the +room, their own papers of the minutes of their transactions torn, and the +ink-glass broken. When all this had some time ceased, the said Giles proposed +to enter first into these rooms, and, in presence of the Commissioners, of whom +he received the key, he opened the door and entered the room, their honours +following him. He there found the wood strewed about the room, the chairs +tossed about and broken, the papers torn, and the ink-glass broken over them +all as they had heard, yet no footsteps appeared of any person whatever being +there, nor had the doors ever been opened to admit or let out any person since +their honours were last there. It was therefore voted, <i>nem. con</i>., that +the person who did this mischief could have entered no other way than at the +key-hole of the said doors. +</p> + +<p> +“In the night following this same day, the said Giles, and two other of +the Commissioners’ servants, as they were in bed in the same room with +their honours, had their bed’s feet lifted up so much higher than their +heads, that they expected to have their necks broken, and then they were let +fall at once with such violence as shook them up from the bed to a good +distance; and this was repeated many times, their honours being amazed +spectators of it. In the morning the bedsteads were found cracked and broken, +and the said Giles and his fellows, declared they were sore to the bones with +the tossing and jolting of the beds. +</p> + +<p> +“October 19. As they were all in bed together, the candles were all blown +out together with a sulphurous smell, and instantly many trenchers of wood were +hurled about the room; and one of them putting his head above the clothes, had +not less than six thrown at him, which wounded him very grievously. In the +morning the trenchers were all found lying about the room, and were observed to +be the same they had eaten on the day before, none being found remaining in the +pantry. +</p> + +<p> +“October 20. This night the candles were put out as before; the curtains +of the bed in which their honours lay, were drawn to and fro many times with +great violence: their honours received many cruel blows, and were much bruised +beside, with eight great pewter dishes, and three dozen wooden trenchers, which +were thrown on the bed, and afterwards heard rolling about the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Many times also this night they heard the forcible falling of many +fagots by their bedside, but in the morning no fagots were found there, no +dishes or trenchers were there seen either; and the aforesaid Giles attests, +that by their different arranging in the pantry, they had assuredly been taken +thence, and after put there again. +</p> + +<p> +“October 21. The keeper of their ordinary and his bitch lay with them: +This night they had no disturbance. +</p> + +<p> +“October 22. Candles put out as before. They had the said bitch with them +again, but were not by that protected; the bitch set up a very piteous cry; the +clothes of their beds were all pulled off, and the bricks, without any wind, +were thrown off the chimney tops into the midst. +</p> + +<p> +“October 24. The candles put out as before. They thought all the wood of +the King’s Oak was violently thrown down by their bedsides; they counted +sixty-four fagots that fell with great violence, and some hit and shook the +bed,—but in the morning none were found there, nor the door of the room +opened in which the said fagots were. +</p> + +<p> +“October 25. The candles put out as before. The curtains of the bed in +the drawing-room were many times forcibly drawn; the wood thrown out as before; +a terrible crack like thunder was heard; and one of the servants, running to +see if his master was not killed, found at his return, three dozen trenchers +laid smoothly upon his bed under the quilt. +</p> + +<p> +“October 26. The beds were shaken as before; the windows seemed all +broken to pieces, and glass fell in vast quantities all about the room. In the +morning they found the windows all whole, but the floor strewed with broken +glass, which they gathered and laid by. +</p> + +<p> +“October 29. At midnight candles went out as before, something walked +majestically through the room and opened and shut the window; great stones were +thrown violently into the room, some whereof fell on the beds, others on the +floor; and about a quarter after one, a noise was heard as of forty cannon +discharged together, and again repeated at about eight minutes’ distance. +This alarmed and raised all the neighbourhood, who, coming into their +honours’ room, gathered up the great stones, fourscore in number, many of +them like common pebbles and boulters, and laid them by, where they are to be +seen to this day, at a corner of the adjoining field. This noise, like the +discharge of cannon, was heard throughout the country for sixteen miles round. +During these noises, which were heard in both rooms together, both the +Commissioners and their servants gave one another over for lost, and cried out +for help; and Giles Sharp, snatching up a sword, had well-nigh killed one of +their honours, taking him for the spirit as he came in his shirt into the room. +While they were together, the noise was continued, and part of the tiling of +the house, and all the windows of an upper room, were taken away with it. +</p> + +<p> +“October 30. Something walked into the chamber, treading like a bear; it +walked many times about, then threw the warming-pan violently upon the floor, +and so bruised it, that it was spoiled. Vast quantities of glass were now +thrown about the room, and vast numbers of great stones and horses’ bones +were thrown in; these were all found in the morning, and the floors, beds, and +walls were all much damaged by the violence they were thrown in. +</p> + +<p> +“November 1. Candles were placed in all parts of the room, and a great +fire made. At midnight, the candles all yet burning, a noise like the burst of +a cannon was heard in the room, and the burning billets were tossed all over +the room and about the beds; and had not their honours called in Giles and his +fellows, the house had assuredly been burnt. An hour after the candles went +out, as usual, the clack of many cannon was heard, and many pailfuls of green +stinking water were thrown on their honours in bed; great stones were also +thrown in as before, the bed-curtains and bedsteads torn and broken: the +windows were now all really broken, and the whole neighbourhood alarmed with +the noises; nay, the very rabbit-stealers that were abroad that night in the +warren, were so frightened at the dismal thundering, that they fled for fear +and left their ferrets behind them. +</p> + +<p> +“One of their honours this night spoke, and in the name of God asked what +it was, and why it disturbed them so? No answer was given to this; but the +noise ceased for a while, when the spirit came again, and as they all agreed, +brought with it seven devils worse than itself. One of the servants now lighted +a large candle, and set it in the doorway between the two chambers, to see what +passed; and as he<a href="#fn1" name="fnref1" id="fnref1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +watched it, he plainly saw a hoof striking the candle and candlestick into the +middle of the room, and afterwards, making three scrapes over the snuff of the +candle, to scrape it out. Upon this, the same person was so bold as to draw a +sword; but he had scarce got it out, when he perceived another invisible hand +had hold of it too, and pulled with him for it, and at last prevailing, struck +him so violently on the head with the pommel, that he fell down for dead with +the blow. At this instant was heard another burst like the discharge of the +broadside of a ship of war, and at about a minute or two’s distance each, +no less than nineteen more such: these shook the house so violently that they +expected every moment it would fall upon their heads. The neighbours on this +were all alarmed, and, running to the house, they all joined in prayer and +psalm-singing, during which the noise continued in the other rooms, and the +discharge of cannon without, though nobody was there.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn1" id="fn1"></a> <a href="#fnref1">[1]</a> +Probably this part was also played by Sharp, who was the regular ghost-seer of +the party. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Plot concludes his relation of this memorable event<a href="#fn2" name="fnref2" id="fnref2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +with observing, that, though tricks have often been played in affairs of this +kind, many of these things are not reconcilable with juggling; such as, 1st, +The loud noises beyond the power of man to make, without instruments which were +not there; 2d, The tearing and breaking of the beds; 3d, The throwing about the +fire; 4th, The hoof treading out the candle; and, 5th, The striving for the +sword, and the blow the man received from the pommel of it. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn2" id="fn2"></a> <a href="#fnref2">[2]</a> +In his Natural History of Oxfordshire. +</p> + +<p> +To shew how great men are sometimes deceived, we may recur to a tract, entitled +“<i>The Secret History of the Good Devil of Woodstock</i>,” in +which we find it, under the author’s own hand, that he, Joseph Collins, +commonly called Funny Joe, was himself this very devil;—that, under the +feigned name of Giles Sharp, he hired himself as a servant to the +Commissioners;—that by the help of two friends—an unknown trapdoor +in the ceiling of the bedchamber, and a pound of common gunpowder—he +played all these extraordinary tricks by himself;—that his +fellow-servants, whom he had introduced on purpose to assist him, had lifted up +their own beds; and that the candles were contrived, by a common trick of +gunpowder, to be extinguished at a certain time. +</p> + +<p> +The dog who began the farce was, as Joe swore, no dog at all, but truly a +bitch, who had shortly before whelped in that room, and made all this +disturbance in seeking for her puppies; and which, when she had served his +purpose, he (Joe Sharp, or Collins) let out, and then looked for. The story of +the hoof and sword he himself bore witness to, and was never suspected as to +the truth of them, though mere fictions. By the trapdoor his friends let down +stones, fagots, glass, water, etc., which they either left there, or drew up +again, as best suited his purpose; and by this way let themselves in and out, +without opening the doors, or going through the keyholes, and all the noises, +described, he declares he made by placing quantities of white gunpowder over +pieces of burning charcoal, on plates of tin, which, as they melted, exploded +with a violent noise. +</p> + +<p> +I am very happy in having an opportunity of setting history right about these +remarkable events, and would not have the reader disbelieve my author’s +account of them, from his naming either white gunpowder exploding when melted, +or his making the earth about the pot take fire of its own accord; since, +however improbable these accounts may appear to some readers, and whatever +secrets they might be in Joe’s time, they are now well known in +chemistry. As to the last, there needs only to mix an equal quantity of iron +filings, finely powdered, and powder of pure brimstone, and make them into a +paste with fair water. This paste, when it hath lain together about twenty-six +hours, will of itself take fire, and burn all the sulphur away with a blue +flame and a bad smell. For the others, what he calls white gunpowder, is +plainly the thundering powder called by our chemists <i>pulvis fulminans</i>. +It is composed of three parts of saltpetre, two parts of pearl ashes or salt of +tartar, and one part of flower of brimstone, mixed together and beat to a fine +powder; a small quantity of this held on the point of a knife over a candle, +will not go off till it melt, and then it gives a report like that of a pistol; +and this he might easily dispose of in larger quantities, so as to make it +explode of itself, while he, the said Joe, was with his masters. +</p> + +<p> +Such is the explanation of the ghostly adventures of Woodstock, as transferred +by Mr. Hone from the pages of the old tract, termed the Authentic Memoirs of +the memorable Joseph Collins of Oxford, whose courage and loyalty were the only +wizards which conjured up those strange and surprising apparitions and works of +spirits, which passed as so unquestionable in the eyes of the Parliamentary +Commissioners, of Dr. Plot, and other authors of credit. The <i>pulvis +fulminans</i>, the secret principle he made use of, is now known to every +apothecary’s apprentice. +</p> + +<p> +If my memory be not treacherous, the actor of these wonders made use of his +skill in fireworks upon the following remarkable occasion. The Commissioners +had not, in their zeal for the public service, overlooked their own private +interests, and a deed was drawn up upon parchment, recording the share and +nature of the advantages which they privately agreed to concede to each other; +at the same time they were, it seems, loath to intrust to any one of their +number the keeping of a document in which all were equally concerned. +</p> + +<p> +They hid the written agreement within a flower-pot, in which a shrub concealed +it from the eyes of any chance spectator. But the rumour of the apparitions +having gone abroad, curiosity drew many of the neighbours to Woodstock, and +some in particular, to whom the knowledge of this agreement would have afforded +matter of scandel; as the Commissioners received these guests in the saloon +where the flower-pot was placed, a match was suddenly set to some fireworks +placed there by Sharp the secretary. The flower-pot burst to pieces with the +concussion, or was prepared so as to explode of itself, and the contract of the +Commissioners, bearing testimony to their private roguery, was thrown into the +midst of the visiters assembled. If I have recollected this incident +accurately, for it is more than forty years since I perused the tract, it is +probable, that in omitting it from the novel, I may also have passed over, from +want of memory, other matters which might have made an essential addition to +the story. Nothing, indeed, is more certain, than that incidents which are +real, preserve an infinite advantage in works of this nature over such as are +fictitious. The tree, however, must remain where it has fallen. +</p> + +<p> +Having occasion to be in London in October 1831, I made some researches in the +British Museum, and in that rich collection, with the kind assistance of the +Keepers, who manage it with so much credit to themselves and advantage to the +public, I recovered two original pamphlets, which contain a full account of the +phenomena at Woodstock in 1649.<a href="#fn3" name="fnref3" id="fnref3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> +The first is a satirical poem, published in that year, which plainly shews that +the legend was current among the people in the very shape in which it was +afterwards made public. I have not found the explanation of Joe Collins, which, +as mentioned by Mr. Hone, resolves the whole into confederacy. It might, +however, be recovered by a stricter search than I had leisure for. In the +meantime, it may be observed, that neither the name of Joe Collins, nor Sharp, +occurs among the <i>dramatis personæ</i> given in these tracts, published when +he might have been endangered by any thing which directed suspicion towards +him, at least in 1649, and perhaps might have exposed him to danger even in +1660, from the malice of a powerful though defeated faction. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn3" id="fn3"></a> <a href="#fnref3">[3]</a> +See Appendix. +</p> + +<p> +1<i>st August</i>, 1832. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/fig01.jpg" width="500" height="186" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref02"></a>APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.</h2> + +<h3><a name="pref03"></a>APPENDIX No. I.<br/> +THE WOODSTOCK SCUFFLE;</h3> + +<p class="center"> +or, Most dreadfull apparitions that were lately seene in the Mannor-house of +Woodstock, neere Oxford, to the great terror and the wonderful amazement of all +there that did behold them. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +It were a wonder if one unites,<br/> +And not of wonders and strange sights;<br/> +For ev’ry where such things affrights<br/> + Poore people, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +That men are ev’n at their wits’ end;<br/> +God judgments ev’ry where doth send,<br/> +And yet we don’t our lives amend,<br/> + But tipple, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And sweare, and lie, and cheat, and—,<br/> +Because the world shall drown no more,<br/> +As if no judgments were in store<br/> + But water; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But by the stories which I tell,<br/> +You’ll heare of terrors come from hell,<br/> +And fires, and shapes most terrible<br/> + For matter. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +It is not long since that a child<br/> +Spake from the ground in a large field,<br/> +And made the people almost wild<br/> + That heard it, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Of which there is a printed book,<br/> +Wherein each man the truth may look,<br/> +If children speak, the matter’s took<br/> + For verdict. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But this is stranger than that voice,<br/> +The wonder’s greater, and the noyse;<br/> +And things appeare to men, not boyes,<br/> + At <i>Woodstock</i>; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Where <i>Rosamond</i> had once a bower,<br/> +To keep her from Queen <i>Elinour</i>,<br/> +And had escap’d her poys’nous power<br/> + By good-luck, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But fate had otherwise decreed,<br/> +And <i>Woodstock</i> Manner saw a deed,<br/> +Which is in <i>Hollinshed</i> or <i>Speed</i><br/> + Chro-nicled; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But neither <i>Hollinshed</i> nor <i>Stow</i>,<br/> +Nor no historians such things show,<br/> +Though in them wonders we well know<br/> + Are pickled; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +For nothing else is history<br/> +But pickle of antiquity,<br/> +Where things are kept in memory<br/> + From stinking; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Which otherwise would have lain dead,<br/> +As in oblivion buried,<br/> +Which now you may call into head<br/> + With thinking. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The dreadfull story, which is true,<br/> +And now committed unto view,<br/> +By better pen, had it its due,<br/> + Should see light. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But I, contented, do indite,<br/> +Not things of wit, but things of right;<br/> +You can’t expect that things that fright<br/> + Should delight. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +O hearken, therefore, hark and shake!<br/> +My very pen and hand doth quake!<br/> +While I the true relation make<br/> + O’ th’ wonder, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Which hath long time, and still appeares<br/> +Unto the State’s Commissioners,<br/> +And puts them in their beds to feares<br/> + From under. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +They come, good men, imploi’d by th’ State<br/> +To sell the lands of Charles the late.<br/> +And there they lay, and long did waite<br/> + For chapmen. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +You may have easy pen’worths, woods,<br/> +Lands, ven’son, householdstuf, and goods,<br/> +They little thought of dogs that wou’d<br/> + There snap-men. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But when they’d sup’d, and fully fed,<br/> +They set up remnants and to bed.<br/> +Where scarce they had laid down a head<br/> + To slumber, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But that their beds were heav’d on high;<br/> +They thought some dog under did lie,<br/> +And meant i’ th’ chamber (fie, fie, fie)<br/> + To scumber. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Some thought the cunning cur did mean<br/> +To eat their mutton (which was lean)<br/> +Reserv’d for breakfast, for the men<br/> + Were thrifty. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And up one rises in his shirt,<br/> +Intending the slie cur to hurt,<br/> +And forty thrusts made at him for’t,<br/> + Or fifty. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But empty came his sword again.<br/> +He found he thrust but all in vain;<br/> +An the mutton safe, hee went amain<br/> + To’s fellow. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And now (assured all was well)<br/> +The bed again began to swell,<br/> +The men were frighted, and did smell<br/> + O’ th’ yellow. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +From heaving, now the cloaths it pluckt<br/> +The men, for feare, together stuck,<br/> +And in their sweat each other duck’t.<br/> + They wished +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A thousand times that it were day;<br/> +’Tis sure the divell! Let us pray.<br/> +They pray’d amain; and, as they say,<br/> +—— —— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Approach of day did cleere the doubt,<br/> +For all devotions were run out,<br/> +They now waxt strong and something stout,<br/> + One peaked +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Under the bed, but nought was there;<br/> +He view’d the chamber ev’ry where,<br/> +Nothing apear’d but what, for feare.<br/> +vThey leaked. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Their stomachs then return’d apace,<br/> +They found the mutton in the place,<br/> +And fell unto it with a grace.<br/> + They laughed +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Each at the other’s pannick feare,<br/> +And each his bed-fellow did jeere,<br/> +And having sent for ale and beere,<br/> + They quaffed. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And then abroad the summons went,<br/> +Who’ll buy king’s-land o’ th’ Parliament?<br/> +A paper-book contein’d the rent,<br/> + Which lay there; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +That did contein the severall farmes,<br/> +Quit-rents, knight services, and armes;<br/> +But that they came not in by swarmes<br/> + To pay there. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Night doth invite to bed again,<br/> +The grand Commissioners were lain,<br/> +But then the thing did heave amain,<br/> + It busled, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And with great clamor fil’d their eares,<br/> +The noyse was doubled, and their feares;<br/> +Nothing was standing but their haires,<br/> + They nuzled. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oft were the blankets pul’d, the sheete<br/> +Was closely twin’d betwixt their feete,<br/> +It seems the spirit was discreete<br/> + And civill. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Which makes the poore Commissioners<br/> +Feare they shall get but small arreares,<br/> +And that there’s yet for cavaliers<br/> + One divell. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +They cast about what best to doe;<br/> +Next day they would to wisemen goe,<br/> +To neighb’ring towns some cours to know;<br/> + For schollars +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Come not to Woodstock, as before,<br/> +And Allen’s dead as a nayle-doore,<br/> +And so’s old John (eclep’d the poore)<br/> + His follower; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Rake Oxford o’re, there’s not a man<br/> +That rayse or lay a spirit can,<br/> +Or use the circle, or the wand,<br/> + Or conjure; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Or can say (Boh!) unto a divell,<br/> +Or to a goose that is uncivill,<br/> +Nor where Keimbolton purg’d out evill,<br/> + ’Tis sin sure. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +There were two villages hard by,<br/> +With teachers of presbytery,<br/> +Who knew the house was hidiously<br/> + Be-pestred; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But ’lasse! their new divinity<br/> +Is not so deep, or not so high;<br/> +Their witts doe (as their meanes did) lie<br/> + Sequestred; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But Master Joffman was the wight<br/> +Which was to exorcise the spright;<br/> +Hee’ll preach and pray you day and night<br/> + At pleasure. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And by that painfull gainfull trade,<br/> +He hath himselfe full wealthy made;<br/> +Great store of guilt he hath, ’tis said,<br/> + And treasure. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But no intreaty of his friends<br/> +Could get him to the house of fiends,<br/> +He came not over for such ends<br/> + From Dutch-land, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But worse divinity hee brought,<br/> +And hath us reformation taught,<br/> +And, with our money, he hath bought<br/> + Him much land. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Had the old parsons preached still,<br/> +The div’l should nev’r have had his wil;<br/> +But those that had or art or skill<br/> + Are outed; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And those to whom the pow’r was giv’n<br/> +Of driving spirits, are out-driv’n;<br/> +Their colledges dispos’d, and livings,<br/> + To grout-heads. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +There was a justice who did boast,<br/> +Hee had as great a gift almost,<br/> +Who did desire him to accost<br/> + This evill. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But hee would not employ his gifts.<br/> +But found out many sleights and shifts;<br/> +Hee had no prayers, nor no snifts,<br/> + For th’ divell. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Some other way they cast about,<br/> +These brought him in, they throw not out;<br/> +A woman, great with child, will do’t;<br/> + They got one. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And she i’ th’ room that night must lie;<br/> +But when the thing about did flie,<br/> +And broke the windows furiously<br/> + And hot one +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Of the contractors o’re the head,<br/> +Who lay securely in his bed,<br/> +The woman, shee-affrighted, fled<br/> +—— —— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And now they lay the cause on her.<br/> +That e’re that night the thing did stir,<br/> +Because her selfe and grandfather<br/> + Were Papists; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +They must be barnes-regenerate,<br/> +(A <i>Hans en Kelder</i> of the state,<br/> +Which was in reformation gatt,)<br/> + They said, which +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Doth make the divell stand in awe,<br/> +Pull in his hornes, his hoof, his claw;<br/> +But having none, they did in draw<br/> +—— —— —— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But in the night there was such worke,<br/> +The spirit swaggered like a Turke;<br/> +The bitch had spi’d where it did lurke,<br/> + And howled +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In such a wofull manner that<br/> +Their very hearts went pit a pat; +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="poem"> +The stately rooms, where kings once lay<br/> +But the contractors show’d the way.<br/> +But mark what now I tell you, pray,<br/> + ’Tis worth it. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +That book I told you of before,<br/> +Wherein were tenants written store,<br/> +A register for many more<br/> + Not forth yet, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +That very book, as it did lie,<br/> +Took of a flame, no mortall eye<br/> +Seeing one jot of fire thereby,<br/> + Or taper; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +For all the candles about flew,<br/> +And those that burned, burned blew,<br/> +Never kept soldiers such a doe<br/> + Or vaper. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The book thus burnt and none knew how<br/> +The poore contractors made a vow<br/> +To work no more; this spoil’d their plow<br/> + In that place. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Some other part o’ th’ house they’ll find,<br/> +To which the divell hath no mind,<br/> +But hee, it seems, is not inclin’d<br/> + With that grace; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +But other pranks it plaid elsewhere.<br/> +An oake there was stood many a yeere,<br/> +Of goodly growth as any where,<br/> + Was hewn down, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Which into fewell-wood was cut,<br/> +And some into a wood-pile put,<br/> +But it was hurled all about<br/> + And thrown down. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In sundry formes it doth appeare;<br/> +Now like a grasping claw to teare;<br/> +Now like a dog; anon a beare<br/> + It tumbles; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +And all the windows battered are,<br/> +No man the quarter enter dare;<br/> +All men (except the glasier)<br/> + Doe grumble. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Once in the likenesse of woman,<br/> +Of stature much above the common,<br/> +’Twas seene, but spak a word to no man,<br/> + And vanish’d. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +’Tis thought the ghost of some good wife<br/> +Whose husband was depriv’d of life,<br/> +Her children cheated, land in strife<br/> + She banist. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +No man can tell the cause of these<br/> +So wondrous dreadful outrages;<br/> +Yet if upon your sinne you please<br/> + To discant, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +You’le find our actions out-doe hell’s;<br/> +O wring your hands and cease the bells,<br/> +Repentance must, or nothing else<br/> + Appease can’t. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h3><a name="pref04"></a>No. II.<br/> +THE JUST DEVIL OF WOODSTOCK;</h3> + +<h4>OR,<br/> +A TRUE NARRATIVE OF THE SEVERAL APPARITIONS, THE FRIGHTS AND PUNISHMENTS, +INFLICTED UPON THE RUMPISH COMMISSIONERS SENT THITHER TO SURVEY THE MANNORS AND +HOUSES BELONGING TO HIS MAJESTIE.</h4> + +<p class="center"> +[London, printed in the year 1660. 4to.] +</p> + +<p> +The names of the persons in the ensuing Narrative mentioned, with +others:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +C<small>APTAIN</small> C<small>OCKAINE</small>.<br/> +C<small>APTAIN</small> H<small>ART</small>.<br/> +C<small>APTAIN</small> C<small>ROOK</small>.<br/> +C<small>APTAIN</small> C<small>ARELESSE</small>.<br/> +C<small>APTAIN</small> R<small>OE</small>.<br/> +Mr. C<small>ROOK</small>, the Lawyer.<br/> +Mr. B<small>ROWNE</small>, the Surveyor.<br/> +Their three Servants.<br/> +Their Ordinary-keeper, and others.<br/> +The Gatekeeper, with the Wife and Servants. +</p> + +<p> +Besides many more, who each night heard the noise; as Sir Gerrard Fleetwood and +his lady, with his family, Mr. Hyans, with his family, and several others, who +lodged in the outer courts; and during the three last nights, the inhabitants +of Woodstock town, and other neighbor villages. +</p> + +<p> +And there were many more, both divines and others, who came out of the country, +and from Oxford, to see the glass and stones, and other stuffe, the devil had +brought, wherewith to beat out the Commissioners; the marks upon some walls +remain, and many, this to testifie. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref05"></a>THE PREFACE TO THE ENSUING NARRATIVE.</h2> + +<p> +Since it hath pleased the Almighty God, out of his infinite mercy, so to make +us happy, by restoring of our native King to us, and us unto our native liberty +through him, that now the good may say, <i>magna temporum felicitas ubi sentire +quæ velis, et dicere licet quæ sentias</i>, we cannot but esteem ourselves +engaged in the highest of degrees, to render unto him the highest thanks we can +express. Although, surpris’d with joy, we become as lost in the +performance; when gladness and admiration strikes us silent, as we look back +upon the precipiece of our late condition, and those miraculous deliverances +beyond expression. Freed from the slavery, and those desperate perils, we dayly +lived in fear of, during the tyrannical times of that detestable usurper, +Oliver Cromwell; he who had raked up such judges, as would wrest the most +innocent language into high treason, when he had the cruel conscience to take +away our lives, upon no other ground of justice or reason, (the stones of +London streets would rise to witness it, if all the citizens were silent.) And +with these judges had such councillors, as could advise him unto worse, which +will less want of witness. For should the many auditors be silent, the press, +(as God would have it,) hath given it us in print, where one of them (and his +conscience-keeper, too,) speaks out. What shall we do with these men? saith he; +<i>Æger intemperans crudelem facit medicum, et immedicabile vulmis ense +recidendum</i>. Who these men are that should be brought to such Scicilian +vespers, the former page sets forth—those which conceit <i>Utopias</i>, +and have their day-dreams of the return of I know not what golden age, with the +old line. What usage, when such a privy councillor had power, could he expect, +who then had published this narrative? This much so plainly shows the devil +himself dislikt their doings, (so much more bad were they than he would have +them be,) severer sure than was the devil to their Commissioners at Woodstock; +for he warned them, with dreadful noises, to drive them from their work. This +councillor, without more ado, would have all who retained conceits of +allegiance to their soveraign, to be absolutely cut off by the usurper’s +sword. A sad sentence for a loyal party, to a lawful King. But Heaven is always +just; the party is repriv’d, and do acknowledge the hand of God in it, as +is rightly apply’d, and as justly sensible of their deliverance in that +the foundation which the councillor saith was already so well laid, is now +turned up, and what he calls day-dreams are come to passe. That old line which +(as with him) there seemed, <i>aliquid divini</i>, to the contrary is now +restored. And that rock which, as he saith, the prelates and all their +adherents, nay, and their master and supporter, too, with all his posterity, +have split themselves upon, is nowhere to be heard. And that posterity are +safely arrived in their ports, and masters of that mighty navy, their enemies +so much encreased to keep them out with. The eldest sits upon the throne, his +place by birthright and descent, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Pacatumque regit Patriis virtutibus orbem;” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +upon which throne long may he sit, and reign in peace. That by his just +government, the enemies of ours, the true Protestant Church, of that glorious +martyr, our late sovereign, and of his royal posterity, may be either +absolutely converted, or utterly confounded. +</p> + +<p> +If any shall now ask thee why this narrative was not sooner published, as +neerer to the times wherein the things were acted, he hath the reason for it in +the former lines; which will the more clearly appear unto his apprehension, if +he shall perpend how much cruelty is requisite to the maintenance of rebellion; +and how great care is necessary in the supporters, to obviate and divert the +smallest things that tend to the unblinding of the people; so that it needs +will follow, that they must have accounted this amongst the great obstructions +to their sales of his majestie’s lands, the devil not joining with them +in the security; and greater to the pulling down the royal pallaces, when their +chapmen should conceit the devil would haunt them in their houses, for building +with so ill got materials; as no doubt but that he hath, so numerous and +confident are the relations made of the same, though scarce any so totally +remarkeable as this, (if it be not that others have been more concealed,) in +regard of the strange circumstances as long continuances, but especially the +number of persons together, to whom all things were so visibly both seen and +done, so that surely it exceeds any other; for the devils thus manifesting +themselves, it appears evidently that there are such things as devils, to +persecute the wicked in this world as in the next. +</p> + +<p> +Now, if to these were added the diverse reall phantasms seen at Whitehall in +Cromwell’s times, which caused him to keep such mighty guards in and +about his bedchamber, and yet so oft to change his lodgings; if those things +done at St. James’, where the devil so joal’d the centinels against +the sides of the queen’s chappell doors, that some of them fell sick upon +it; and others, not, taking warning by it, kild one outright, whom they buried +in the place; and all other such dreadful things, those that inhabited the +royal houses have been affrighted with. +</p> + +<p> +And if to these were likewise added, a relation of all those regicides and +their abettors the devil hath entered into, as he did the Gadarenes’ +swine, with so many more of them who hath fallen mad, and dyed in hideous forms +of such distractions, that which hath been of this within these 12 last years +in England, (should all of this nature, our chronicles do tell, with all the +superstitious monks have writ, be put together,) would make the greater volume, +and of more strange occurrents. +</p> + +<p> +And now as to the penman of this narrative, know that he was a divine, and at +the time of those things acted, which are here related, the minister and +schoolmaster of Woodstock; a person learned and discreet, not byassed with +factious humours, his name Widows, who each day put in writing what he heard +from their mouthes, (and such things as they told to have befallen them the +night before,) therein keeping to their own words; and, never thinking that +what he had writ should happen to be made publick, gave it no better dress to +set it forth. And because to do it now shall not be construed to change the +story, the reader hath it here accordingly exposed. +</p> + +<h3>THE JUST DEVIL OF WOODSTOCK</h3> + +<p> +The 16th day of <i>October</i>, in the year of our Lord 1649, the Commissioners +for surveying and valuing his majestie’s mannor-house, parks, woods, +deer, demesnes, and all things thereunto belonging, by name Captain Crook, +Captain Hart, Captain Cockaine, Captain Carelesse, and Captain Roe, their +messenger, with Mr. Browne, their secretary, and two or three servants, went +from Woodstock town, (where they had lain some nights before,) and took up +their lodgings in his majestie’s house after this manner: The bed-chamber +and withdrawing-room they both lodged in and made their kitchen; the +presence-chamber their room for dispatch of their business with all commers; of +the council-hall their brew-house, as of the dining-room, their wood-house, +where they laid in the clefts of that antient standard in the High-Park, for +many ages beyond memory known by the name of the King’s Oak, which they +had chosen out, and caused to be dug up by the roots. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 17. About the middle of the night, these new guests were first +awaked by a knocking at the presence-chamber door, which they also conceived +did open, and something to enter, which came through the room, and also walkt +about that room with a heavy step during half an hour, then crept under the bed +where Captain Hart and Captain Carelesse lay, where it did seem (as it were) to +bite and gnaw the mat and bed-coards, as if it would tear and rend the feather +beds; which having done a while, then would heave a while, and rest; then heave +them up again in the bed more high than it did before, sometime on the one +side, sometime on the other, as if it had tried which Captain was heaviest. +Thus having heaved some half an hour, from thence it walkt out and went under +the servants’ bed, and did the like to them; hence it walkt into a +withdrawing room, and there did the same to all who lodged there. Thus having +welcomed them for more than two hours’ space, it walkt out as it came in, +and shut the outer door again, but with the clap of some mightie force. These +guests were in a sweat all this while, but out of it falling into a sleep +again, it became morning first before they spake their minds; then would they +have it to be a dog, yet they described it more to the likeness of a great +bear; so fell to the examining under the beds, where, finding only the mats +scracht, but the bed-coards whole, and the quarter of beef which lay on the +floor untoucht, they entertained other thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 18. They were all awaked as the night before, and now conceived +that they heard all the great clefts of the King’s Oak brought into the +presence-chamber, and there thumpt down, and after roul about the room; they +could hear their chairs and stools tost from one side of the room unto the +other, and then (as it were) altogether josled. Thus having done an hour +together, it walkt into the withdrawing-room, where lodged the two captains, +the secretary, and two servants; here stopt the thing a while, as if it did +take breath, but raised a hideous one, then walkt into the bed-chamber, where +lay those as before, and under the bed it went, where it did heave and heave +again, that now they in bed were put to catch hold upon bed-posts, and +sometimes one of the other, to prevent their being tumbled out upon the ground; +then coming out as from under the bed, and taking hold upon the bed-posts, it +would shake the whole bed, almost as if a cradle rocked. Thus having done here +for half an hour, it went into the withdrawing-room, where first it came and +stood at the bed’s feet, and heaving up the bed’s feet, flopt them +down again a while, until at last it heaved the feet so high that those in bed +thought to have been set upon their heads; and having thus for two hours +entertained them, went out as in the night before, but with a great noise. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 19. This night they awaked not until the midst of the night; +they perceived the room, to shake with something that walkt about the +bedchamber, which having done so a while, it walkt into a withdrawing-room, +where it took up a brasse warming-pan, and returning with it into the +bed-chamber, therein made so loud a noise, in these captains’ own words, +it was as loud and scurvy as a ring of five untuned bells rung backward; but +the captains, not to seem afraid, next day made mirth of what had past, and +jested at the devil in the pan. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 20. These captains and their company, still lodging as before, +were wakened in this night with some things flying about the rooms, and out of +one room into the other, as thrown with some great force. Captain Hart, being +in a slumber, was taken by the shoulder and shaked until he did sit up in his +bed, thinking that it had been one of his fellows, when suddenly he was taken +on the pate with a trencher, that it made him shrink down into the bed-clothes, +and all of them, in both rooms, kept their heads at least within their sheets, +so fiercely did three dozen of trenchers fly about the rooms; yet Captain Hart +ventured again to peep out to see what was the matter, and what it was that +threw, but then the trenchers came so fast and neer about his ears, that he was +fain quickly to couch again. In the morning they found all their trenchers, +pots, and spits, upon and about their beds, and all such things as were of +common use scattered about the rooms. This night there were also, in several +parts of the room and outer rooms, such noises of beating at doors, and on the +walls, as if that several smiths had been at work; and yet our captains shrunk +not from their work, but went on in that, and lodged as they had done before. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 21. About midnight they heard great knocking at every door; +after a while the doors flew open, and into the withdrawing-room entered +something as of a mighty proportion, the figure of it they knew not how to +describe. This walkt awhile about the room shaking the floor at every step, +then came it up close to the bed-side, where lay Captains Crook and Carelesse; +and after a little pause, as it were, the bed-curtains, both at sides and feet, +were drawn up and down slowly, then faster again for a quarter of an hour, then +from end to end as fast as imagination can fancie the running of the rings, +then shaked it the beds, as if the joints thereof had crackt; then walkt the +thing into the bed-chamber, and so plaied with those beds there; then took up +eight peuter dishes, and bouled them about the room and over the servants in +the truckle-beds; then sometimes were the dishes taken up and thrown crosse the +high beds and against the walls, and so much battered; but there were more +dishes wherein was meat in the same room, that were not at all removed. During +this, in the presence-chamber there was stranger noise of weightie things +thrown down, and, as they supposed, the clefts of the King’s Oak did roul +about the room, yet at the wonted hour went away, and left them to take rest, +such as they could. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 22. Hath mist of being set down, the officers imployed in their +work farther off, came not that day to Woodstock. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 23. Those that lodged in the withdrawing-room, in the midst of +the night were awakened with the cracking of fire, as if it had been with +thorns and sparks of fire burning, whereupon they supposed that the bed-chamber +had taken fire, and listning to it farther, they heard their fellows in bed +sadly groan, which gave them to suppose they might be suffocated; wherefore +they called upon their servants to make all possible hast to help them. When +the two servants were come in, they found all asleep, and so brought back word, +but that there were no bedclothes upon them; wherefore they were sent back to +cover them, and to stir up and mend the fire. When the servants had covered +them and were come to the chimney, in the corners they found their wearing +apparrel, boots, and stockings, but they had no sooner toucht the embers, when +the firebrands flew about their ears so fast, that away ran they into the other +room for the shelter of their cover-lids; then after them walkt something that +stampt about the room as if it had been exceeding angry, and likewise threw +about the trenchers, platters, and all such things in the room—after two +hours went out, yet stampt again over their heads. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 24. They lodged all abroad. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 25. This afternoon was come unto them Mr. Richard Crook the +lawyer, brother to Captain Crook, and now deputy-steward of the manner, unto +Captain Parsons and Major Butler, who had put out Mr. Hyans, his +majestie’s officer. To entertain this new guest the Commissioners caused +a very great fire to be made, of neer the chimneyfull of wood of the +King’s Oak, and he was lodged in the withdrawing-room with his brother, +and his servant in the same room. About the midst of the night a wonderful +knocking was heard, and into the room something did rush, which coming to the +chimney-side, dasht out the fire as with the stamp of some prodigious foot, +then threw down such weighty stuffe, what ere it was, (they took it to be the +residue of the clefts and roots of the King’s Oak,) close by the +bed-side, that the house and bed shook with it. Captain Cockaine and his fellow +arose, and took their swords to go unto the Crooks. The noise ceased at their +rising, so that they came to the door and called. The two brothers, though +fully awaked, and heard them call, were so amazed, that they made no answer +until Captain Cockaine had recovered the boldness to call very loud, and came +unto the bed-side; then faintly first, after some more assurance, they came to +understand one another, and comforted the lawyer. Whilst this was thus, no +noise was heard, which made them think the time was past of that night’s +trouble, so that, after some little conference, they applied themselves to take +some rest. When Captain Cockaine was come to his own bed, which he had left +open, he found it closely covered, which he much wondered at; but turning the +clothes down, and opening it to get in, he found the lower sheet strewed over +with trenchers. Their whole three dozen of trenchers were orderly disposed +between the sheets, which he and his fellow endeavoring to cast out, such noise +arose about the room, that they were glad to get into bed with some of the +trenchers. The noise lasted, a full half hour after this. This entertainment so +ill did like the lawyer, and being not so well studied in the point as to +resolve this the devil’s law case, that he next day resolved to be gone; +but having not dispatcht all that he came for, profit and perswasions prevailed +with him to stay the other hearing, so that he lodged as he did the night +before. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 26. This night each room was better furnished with fire and +candle than before; yet about twelve at night came something in that dasht all +out, then did walk about the room, making a noise, not to be set forth by the +comparison with any other thing; sometimes came it to the bedsides, and drew +the curtains to and fro, then twerle them, then walk about again, and return to +the bed-posts, shake them with all the bed, so that they in bed were put to +hold one upon the other, then walk about the room again, and come to the +servants’ bed, and gnaw and scratch the wainscot head, and shake +altogether in that room; at the time of this being in doing, they in the +bed-chamber heard such strange dropping down from the roof of the room, that +they supposed ’twas like the fall of money by the sound. Captain +Cockaine, not frightened with so small a noise, (and lying near the chimney) +stept out, and made shift to light a candle, by the light of which he perceived +the room strewed over with broken glass, green, and some of it as it were +pieces of broken bottles; he had not been long considering what it was, when +suddenly his candle was hit out, and glass flew about the room, that he made +haste to the protection of the coverlets; the noise of thundering rose more +hideous than at any time before; yet, at a certain time, all vanisht into +calmness. The morning after was the glass about the room, which the maid that +was to make clean the rooms swept up into a corner, and many came to see it. +But Mr. Richard Crook would stay no longer, yet as he stopt, going through +Woodstock town, he was there heard to say, that he would not lodge amongst them +another night for a fee of 500 L. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October 27</i>. The Commissioners had not yet done their work, wherefore +they must stay; and being all men of the sword, they must not seem afraid to +encounter with any thing, though it be the devil; therefore, with pistols +charged, and drawn swords laied by their bedsides, they applied themselves to +take some rest, when something in the midst of night, so opened and shut the +window casements with such claps, that it awakened all that slept; some of them +peeping out to look what was the matter with the windows, stones flew about the +rooms as if hurled with many hands; some hit the walls, and some the +beds’ heads close above the pillows, the dints of which were then, and +yet (it is conceived) are to be seen, thus sometime throwing stones, and +sometime making thundering noise for two hours space it ceast, and all was +quiet till the morn. After their rising, and the maid come in to make the fire, +they looked about the rooms; they found fourscore stones brought in that night, +and going to lay them together in the corner where the glass (before mentioned) +had been swept up, they found that every piece of glass had been carried away +that night. Many people came next day to see the stones, and all observed that +they were not of such kind of stones as are naturall in the countrey +thereabout; with these were noise like claps of thunder, or report of cannon +planted against the rooms, heard by all that lodged in the outer courts, to +their astonishment, and at Woodstock town, taken to be thunder. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 28. This night, both strange and differing noise from the former +first wakened Captain Hart, who lodged in the bed-chamber, who, hearing Roe and +Brown to groan, called out to Cockaine and Crook to come and help them, for +Hart could not now stir himself; Cockaine would faine have answered, but he +could not, or look about; something, he thought, stopt both his breath and held +down his eye-lids. Amazed thus, he struggles and kickt about, till he had +awaked Captain Crook, who, half asleep, grew very angry at his kicks, and +multiplied words, it grew to an appointment in the field; but this fully +recovered Cockaine to remember that Captain Hart had called for help, wherefore +to them he ran in the other room, whom he found sadly groaning, where, scraping +in the chimney, he both found a candle and fire to light it; but had not gone +two steps, when something blew the candle out, and threw him in the chair by +the bedside, when presently cried out Captain Carelesse, with a most pitiful +voice, “Come hither, O come hither, brother Cockaine, the thing’s +gone of me.” Cockaine, scarce yet himself, helpt to set him up in his +bed, and after Captain Hart, and having scarce done that to them, and also to +the other two, they heard Captain Crook crying out, as if something had been +killing him. Cockaine snacht up the sword that lay by their bed, and ran into +the room to save Crook, but was in much more likelyhood to kill him, for at his +coming, the thing that pressed Crook went of him, at which Crook started out of +his bed, whom Cockaine thought a spirit made at him, at which Crook cried out +“Lord help, Lord save me;” Cockaine let fall his hand, and Crook, +embracing Cockaine, desired his reconcilement, giving him many thanks for his +deliverance. Then rose they all and came together, discoursed sometimes godly +and sometimes praied, for all this while was there such stamping over the roof +of the house, as if 1000 horse had there been trotting; this night all the +stones brought in the night before, and laid up in the withdrawingroom, were +all carried again away by that which brought them in, which at the wonted time +left of, and, as it were, went out, and so away. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 29. Their businesse having now received so much forwardnesse as +to be neer dispatcht, they encouraged one the other, and resolved to try +further; therefore, they provided more lights and fires, and further for their +assistance, prevailed with their ordinary keeper to lodge amongst them, and +bring his mastive bitch; and it was so this night with them, that they had no +disturbance at all. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 30. So well they had passed the night before, that this night +they went to bed, confident and careless; untill about twelve of the clock, +something knockt at the door as with a smith’s great hammer, but with +such force as if it had cleft the door; then ent’red something like a +bear, but seem’d to swell more big, and walkt about the room, and out of +one room into the other, treading so heavily, as the floare had not been strong +enough to beare it. When it came into the bed-chamber, it dasht against the +beds’ heads some kind of glass vessell, that broke in sundry pieces, and +sometimes would take up those pieces, and hurle them about the room, and into +the other room; and when it did not hurle the glasse at their heads, it did +strike upon the tables, as if many smiths, with their greatest hammers, had +been laying on as upon an anvil; sometimes it thumpt against the walls as if it +would beat a hole through; then upon their heads, such stamping, as if the roof +of the house were beating down upon their heads; and having done thus, during +the space (as was conjectured) of two hours, it ceased and vanished, but with a +more fierce shutting of the doors than at any time before. In the morning they +found the pieces of glass about the room, and observed, that it was much +differing from that glasse brought in three nights before, this being of a much +thicker substance, which severall persons which came in carried away some +pieces of. The Commissioners were in debate of lodging there no more; but all +their businesse was not done, and some of them were so conceited as to believe, +and to attribute the rest they enjoyed the night before this last, unto the +mastive bitch; wherefore, they resolved to get more company, and the mastive +bitch, and try another night. +</p> + +<p> +<i>October</i> 31. This night, the fires and lights prepared, the ordinary +keeper and his bitch, with another man perswaded by him, they all took their +beds and fell asleep. But about twelve at night, such rapping was on all sides +of them, that it wakened all of them; as the doors did seem to open, the +mastive bitch fell fearfully a yelling, and presently ran fiercely into the bed +to them in the truckle-bed; as the thing came by the table, it struck so fierce +a blow on that, as that it made the frame to crack, then took the warming-pan +from off the table, and stroke it against the walls with so much force as that +it was beat flat together, lid and bottom. Now were they hit as they lay +covered over head and ears within the bed-clothes. Captain Carelesse was taken +a sound blow on the head with the shoulder-blade bone of a dead horse, (before +they had been but thrown at, when they peept up, and mist;) Browne had a +shrewed blow on the leg with the backbone, and another on the head, and every +one of them felt severall blows of bones and stones through the bed-clothes, +for now these things were thrown as from an angry hand that meant further +mischief; the stones flew in at window as shot out of a gun, nor was the bursts +lesse (as from without) than of a cannon, and all the windows broken down. Now +as the hurling of the things did cease, and the thing walkt up and down, +Captain Cockaine and Hart cried out, In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy +Ghost, what are you? What would you have? What have we done that you disturb us +thus? No voice replied, (as the Captains said, yet some of their servants have +said otherwise,) and the noise ceast. Hereupon Captains Hart and Cockaine rose, +who lay in the bed-chamber, renewed the fire and lights, and one great candle, +in a candlestick, they placed in the door, that might be seen by them in both +the rooms. No sooner were they got to bed, but the noise arose on all sides +more loud and hideous than at any time before, insomuch as (to use the +Captains’ own words) it returned and brought seven devils worse than +itself; and presently they saw the candle and candlestick in the passage of the +door, dasht up to the roof of the room, by a kick of the hinder parts of a +horse, and after with the hoof trode out the snuff, and so dasht out the fire +in the chimnies. As this was done, there fell, as from the ceiling, upon them +in the truckle-beds such quantities of water, as if it had been poured out of +buckets, which stunk worse than any earthly stink could make; and as this was +in doing, something crept under the high beds, tost them up to the roof of the +house, with the Commissioners in them, until the testers of the beds were +beaten down upon, and the bedsted-frames broke under them; and here some pause +being made, they all, as if with one consent, started up, and ran down the +stairs until they came into the Councel Hall, where two sate up a-brewing, but +now were fallen asleep; those they scared much with the wakening of them, +having been much perplext before with the strange noise, which commonly was +taken by them abroad for thunder, sometimes for rumbling wind. Here the +Captains and their company got fire and candle, and every one carrying +something of either, they returned into the Presence-Chamber, where some +applied themselves to make the fire, whilst others fell to prayers, and having +got some clothes about them, they spent the residue of the night in singing +psalms and prayers; during which, no noise was in that room, but most hideously +round about, as at some distance. +</p> + +<p> +It should have been told before, how that when Captain Hart first rose this +night, (who lay in the bed-chamber next the fire,) he found their book of +valuations crosse the embers smoaking, which he snacht up and cast upon the +table there, which the night before was left upon the table in the presence +amongst their other papers; this book was in the morning found a handful burnt, +and had burnt the table where it lay; Browne the clerk said, he would not for a +100 and a 100 L that it had been burnt a handful further. +</p> + +<p> +This night it happened that there were six cony-stealers, who were come with +their nets and ferrets to the cony-burrows by Rosamond’s Well; but with +the noise this night from the Mannor-house, they were so terrified, that like +men distracted away they ran, and left their haies all ready pitched, ready up, +and the ferrets in the cony-burrows. +</p> + +<p> +Now the Commissioners, more sensible of their danger, considered more seriously +of their safety, and agreed to go and confer with Mr. Hoffman, the minister of +Wotton, (a man not of the meanest note for life or learning, by some esteemed +more high,) to desire his advice, together with his company and prayers. Mr. +Hoffman held it too high a point to resolve on suddenly and by himself, +wherefore desired time to consider upon it, which being agreed unto, he +forthwith rode to Mr. Jenkinson and Mr. Wheat, the two next Justices of Peace, +to try what warrant they could give him for it. They both (as ’tis said +from themselves) encouraged him to be assisting to the Commissioners, according +to his calling. +</p> + +<p> +But certain it is, that when they came to fetch him to go with them, Mr. +Hoffman answered, that he would not lodge there one night for 500 L, and being +asked to pray with them, he held up his hands and said, that he would not +meddle upon any terms. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hoffman refusing to undertake the quarrel, the Commissioners held it not +safe to lodge where they had been thus entertained any longer, but caused all +things to be removed into the chambers over the gatehouse, where they stayed +but one night, and what rest they enjoyed there, we have but an uncertain +relation of, for they went away early the next morning; but if it may be held +fit to set down what hath been delivered by the report of others, they were +also the same night much affrighted with dreadful apparitions; but observing +that these passages spread much in discourse, to be also in particulars taken +notice of, and that the nature of it made not for their cause, they agreed to +the concealing of things for the future; yet this is well-known and certain, +that the gate-keeper’s wife was in so strange an agony in her bed, and in +her bed-chamber such noise, (whilst her husband was above with the +Commissioners,) that two maids in the next room to her, durst not venture to +assist her, but affrighted ran out to call company, and their master, and found +the woman (at their coming in) gasping for breath; and the next day said, that +she saw and suffered that, which for all the world she would not be hired to +again. +</p> + +<p> +From Woodstock the Commissioners removed unto Euelme, and some of them returned +to Woodstock the Sunday se’nnight after, (the book of Valuations wanting +something that was for haste left imperfect,) but lodged not in any of those +rooms where they had lain before, and yet were not unvisited (as they confess +themselves) by the devil, whom they called their nightly guest; Captain Crook +came not untill Tuesday night, and how he sped that night the +gate-keeper’s wife can tell if she dareth, but what she hath whispered to +her gossips, shall not be made a part of this our narrative, nor many more +particulars which have fallen from the Commissioners themselves and their +servants to other persons; they are all or most of them alive, and may add to +it when they please, and surely have not a better way to be revenged of him who +troubled them, than according to the proverb, tell truth and shame the devil. +</p> + +<p> +There remains this observation to be added, that on a Wednesday morning all +these officers went away; and that since then diverse persons of severall +qualities, have lodged often and sometimes long in the same rooms, both in the +presence, withdrawing-room, and bed-chamber belonging unto his sacred Majesty; +yet none have had the least disturbance, or heard the smallest noise, for which +the cause was not as ordinary as apparent, except the Commissioners and their +company, who came in order to the alienating and pulling down the house, which +is wellnigh performed. +</p> + +<h3>A SHORT SURVEY OF WOODSTOCK, NOT TAKEN BY ANY OF THE BEFORE-MENTIONED +COMMISSIONERS.</h3> + +<p class="footnote"> +(This Survey of Woodstock is appended to the preceding pamphlet) +</p> + +<p> +The noble seat, called Woodstock, is one of the ancient honours belonging to +the crown. Severall mannors owe suite and service to the place; but the custom +of the countrey giving it but the title of a mannor, we shall erre with them to +be the better understood. +</p> + +<p> +The mannor-house hath been a large fabrick, and accounted amongst his +majestie’s standing houses, because there was alwaies kept a standing +furniture. This great house was built by King Henry the First, but ampleyfied +with the gate-house and outsides of the outer-court, by King Henry the Seventh, +the stables by King James. +</p> + +<p> +About a bow-shot from the gate south-west, remain foundation signs of that +structure, erected by King Henry the Second, for the security of Lady Rosamond, +daughter of Walter Lord Clifford, which some poets have compared to the +Dedalian labyrinth, but the form and circuit both of the place and ruins show +it to have been a house and of one pile, perhaps of strength, according to the +fashion of those times, and probably was fitted with secret places of recess, +and avenues to hide or convey away such persons as were not willing to be found +if narrowly sought after. About the midst of the place ariseth a spring, called +at present Rosamond’s Well; it is but shallow, and shows to have been +paved and walled about, likely contrived for the use of them within the house, +when it should be of danger to go out. +</p> + +<p> +A quarter of a mile distant from the King’s house, is seated Woodstook +town, new and old. This new Woodstock did arise by some buildings which Henry +the Second gave leave to be erected, (as received by tradition,) at the suite +of the Lady Rosamond, for the use of out-servants upon the wastes of the manner +of Bladon, where is the mother church; this is a hamlet belonging to it, though +encreased to a market town by the advantage of the Court residing sometime +near, which of late years they have been sensible of the want of; this town was +made a corporation in the 11th year of Henry the Sixth, by charter, with power +to send two burgesses to parliament or not, as they will themselves. +</p> + +<p> +Old Woodstock is seated on the west side of the brook, named Glyme, which also +runneth through the park; the town consists not of above four or five houses, +but it is to be conceived that it hath been much larger, (but very anciently +so,) for in some old law historians there is mention of the assize at +Woodstock, for a law made in a Micelgemote (the name of Parliaments before the +coming of the Norman) in the days of King Ethelred. +</p> + +<p> +And in like manner, that thereabout was a king’s house, if not in the +same place where Henry the First built the late standing pile before his; for +in such days those great councils were commonly held in the King’s +palaces. Some of those lands have belonged to the orders of the Knights +Templers, there being records which call them, <i>Terras quas Rex excambiavit +cum Templariis</i>. +</p> + +<p> +But now this late large mannor-house is in a manner almost turned into heaps of +rubbish; some seven or eight rooms left for the accommodation of a tenant that +should rent the King’s medows, (of those who had no power to let them,) +with several high uncovered walls standing, the prodigious spectacles of malice +unto monarchy, which ruines still bear semblance of their state, and yet aspire +in spight of envy, or of weather, to show, What kings do build, subjects may +sometimes shake, but utterly can never overthrow. +</p> + +<p> +That part of the park called the High-park, hath been lately subdivided by Sir +Arthur Haselrig, to make pastures for his breed of colts, and other parts +plowed up. Of the whole saith Roffus Warwicensis, in MS. Hen. I. p. 122. +<i>Fecit iste Rex Parcum de Woodstock, cum Palatio, infra prædictum Parcum, +qui Parcus erat primus Parcus Angliæ, et continet in circuitu septem Miliaria; +constructus erat. Anno 14 hujus Regis, aut parum post</i>. Without the Park the +King’s demesne woods were, it cannot well be said now are, the timber +being all sold off, and underwoods so cropt and spoiled by that beast the Lord +Munson, and other greedy cattle, that they are hardly recoverable. Beyond which +lieth Stonefield, and other mannors that hold of Woodstock, with other woods, +that have been aliened by former kings, but with reservation of liberty for his +majestie’s deer, and other beasts of forrest, to harbour in at pleasure, +as in due place is to be shewed. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref06"></a>PREFACE.</h2> + +<p> +It is not my purpose to inform my readers how the manuscripts of that eminent +antiquary, the Rev. J. A. R<small>OCHECLIFFE</small>, D.D., came into my +possession. There are many ways in which such things happen, and it is enough +to say they were rescued from an unworthy fate, and that they were honestly +come by. As for the authenticity of the anecdotes which I have gleaned from the +writings of this excellent person, and put together with my own unrivalled +facility, the name of Doctor Rochecliffe will warrant accuracy, wherever that +name happens to be known. +</p> + +<p> +With his history the reading part of the world are well acquainted; and we +might refer the tyro to honest Anthony a Wood, who looked up to him as one of +the pillars of High Church, and bestows on him an exemplary character in the +<i>Athenæ Oxonienses</i>, although the Doctor was educated at Cambridge, +England’s other eye. +</p> + +<p> +It is well known that Doctor Rochecliffe early obtained preferment in the +Church, on account of the spirited share which he took in the controversy with +the Puritans; and that his work, entitled <i>Malleus Hæresis</i>, was +considered as a knock-down blow by all except those who received it. It was +that work which made him, at the early age of thirty, Rector of Woodstock, and +which afterwards secured him a place in the Catalogue of the celebrated Century +White;—and worse than being shown up by that fanatic, among the +catalogues of scandalous and malignant priests admitted into benefices by the +prelates, his opinions occasioned the loss of his living of Woodstock by the +ascendency of Presbytery. He was Chaplain, during most part of the Civil War, +to Sir Henry Lee’s regiment, levied for the service of King Charles; and +it was said he engaged more than once personally in the field. At least it is +certain that Doctor Rochecliffe was repeatedly in great danger, as will appear +from more passages than one in the following history, which speaks of his own +exploits, like Caesar, in the third person. I suspect, however, some +Presbyterian commentator has been guilty of interpolating two or three +passages. The manuscript was long in possession of the Everards, a +distinguished family of that persuasion.<a href="#fn4" name="fnref4" id="fnref4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn4" id="fn4"></a> <a href="#fnref4">[4]</a> +It is hardly necessary to say, unless to some readers of very literal capacity, +that Dr. Rochecliffe and his manuscripts are alike apocryphal. +</p> + +<p> +During the Usurpation, Doctor Rochecliffe was constantly engaged in one or +other of the premature attempts at a restoration of monarchy; and was +accounted, for his audacity, presence of mind, and depth of judgment, one of +the greatest undertakers for the King in that busy time; with this trifling +drawback, that the plots in which he busied himself were almost constantly +detected. Nay, it was suspected that Cromwell himself sometimes contrived to +suggest to him the intrigues in which he engaged, by which means the wily +Protector made experiments on the fidelity of doubtful friends, and became well +acquainted with the plots of declared enemies, which he thought it more easy to +disconcert and disappoint than to punish severely. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the Restoration, Doctor Rochecliffe regained his living of Woodstock, with +other Church preferment, and gave up polemics and political intrigues for +philosophy. He was one of the constituent members of the Royal Society, and was +the person through whom Charles required of that learned body solution of their +curious problem, “Why, if a vessel is filled brimful of water, and a +large live fish plunged into the water, nevertheless it shall not overflow the +pitcher?” Doctor Rochecliffe’s exposition of this phenomenon was +the most ingenious and instructive of four that were given in; and it is +certain the Doctor must have gained the honour of the day, but for the +obstinacy of a plain, dull, country gentleman, who insisted that the experiment +should be, in the first place, publicly tried. When this was done, the event +showed it would have been rather rash to have adopted the facts exclusively on +the royal authority; as the fish, however curiously inserted into his native +element, splashed the water over the hall, and destroyed the credit of four +ingenious essayists, besides a large Turkey carpet. +</p> + +<p> +Doctor Rochecliffe, it would seem, died about 1685, leaving many papers behind +him of various kinds, and, above all, many valuable anecdotes of secret +history, from which the following Memoirs have been extracted, on which we +intend to say only a few words by way of illustration. +</p> + +<p> +The existence of Rosamond’s Labyrinth, mentioned in these pages, is +attested by Drayton in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. +</p> + +<p> +Rosamond’s Labyrinth, whose ruins, together with her Well, being paved +with square stones in the bottom, and also her Tower, from which the Labyrinth +did run, are yet remaining, being vaults arched and walled with stone and +brick, almost inextricably wound within one another, by which, if at any time +her lodging were laid about by the Queen, she might easily avoid peril +imminent, and, if need be, by secret issues take the air abroad, many furlongs +about Woodstock in Oxfordshire.<a href="#fn5" name="fnref5" id="fnref5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn5" id="fn5"></a> <a href="#fnref5">[5]</a> +Drayton’s England’s Heroical Epistles, Note A, on the Epistle, +Rosamond to King Henry. +</p> + +<p> +It is highly probable, that a singular piece of phantasmagoria, which was +certainly played off upon the Commissioners of the Long Parliament, who were +sent down to dispark and destroy Woodstock, after the death of Charles I., was +conducted by means of the secret passages and recesses in the ancient Labyrinth +of Rosamond, round which successive Monarchs had erected a Hunting-seat or +Lodge. +</p> + +<p> +There is a curious account of the disturbance given to those Honourable +Commissioners, inserted by Doctor Plot, in his Natural History of Oxfordshire. +But as I have not the book at hand, I can only allude to the work of the +celebrated Glanville upon Witches, who has extracted it as an highly accredited +narrative of supernatural dealings. The beds of the Commissioners, and their +servants, were hoisted up till they were almost inverted, and then let down +again so suddenly, as to menace them with broken bones. Unusual and horrible +noises disturbed those sacrilegious intromitters with royal property. The +devil, on one occasion, brought them a warming-pan; on another, pelted them +with stones and horses’ bones. Tubs of water were emptied on them in +their sleep; and so many other pranks of the same nature played at their +expense, that they broke up housekeeping, and left their intended spoliation +only half completed. The good sense of Doctor Plot suspected, that these feats +were wrought by conspiracy and confederation, which Glanville of course +endeavours to refute with all his might; for it could scarce be expected, that +he who believed in so convenient a solution as that of supernatural agency, +would consent to relinquish the service of a key, which will answer any lock, +however intricate. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, it was afterwards discovered, that Doctor Plot was perfectly +right; and that the only demon who wrought all these marvels, was a disguised +royalist—a fellow called Trusty Joe, or some such name, formerly in the +service of the Keeper of the Park, but who engaged in that of the +Commissioners, on purpose to subject them to his persecution. I think I have +seen some account of the real state of the transaction, and of the machinery by +which the wizard worked his wonders; but whether in a book, or a pamphlet, I am +uncertain. I remember one passage particularly to this purpose. The +Commissioners having agreed to retain some articles out of the public account, +in order to be divided among themselves, had entered into an indenture for +ascertaining their share in the peculation, which they hid in a bow-pot for +security. Now, when an assembly of divines, aided by the most strict religious +characters in the neighbourhood of Woodstock, were assembled to conjure down +the supposed demon, Trusty Joe had contrived a firework, which he let off in +the midst of the exorcism, and which destroyed the bow-pot; and, to the shame +and confusion of the Commissioners, threw their secret indenture into the midst +of the assembled ghost-seers, who became thus acquainted with their secret +schemes of peculation. +</p> + +<p> +It is, however, to little purpose for me to strain my memory about ancient and +imperfect recollections concerning the particulars of these fantastic +disturbances at Woodstock, since Doctor Rochecliffe’s papers give such a +much more accurate narrative than could be obtained from any account in +existence before their publication. Indeed, I might have gone much more fully +into this part of my subject, for the materials are ample;—but, to tell +the reader a secret, some friendly critics were of opinion they made the story +hang on hand; and thus I was prevailed on to be more concise on the subject +than I might otherwise have been. +</p> + +<p> +The impatient reader, perhaps, is by this time accusing me of keeping the sun +from him with a candle. Were the sunshine as bright, however, as it is likely +to prove; and the flambeau, or link, a dozen of times as smoky, my friend must +remain in the inferior atmosphere a minute longer, while I disclaim the idea of +poaching on another’s manor. Hawks, we say in Scotland, ought not to pick +out hawks’ eyes, or tire upon each other’s quarry; and therefore, +if I had known that, in its date and its characters this tale was likely to +interfere with that recently published by a distinguished contemporary, I +should unquestionably have left Doctor Rochecliffe’s manuscript in peace +for the present season. But before I was aware of this circumstance, this +little book was half through the press; and I had only the alternative of +avoiding any intentional imitation, by delaying a perusal of the contemporary +work in question. Some accidental collision there must be, when works of a +similar character are finished on the same general system of historical +manners, and the same historical personages are introduced. Of course, if such +have occurred, I shall be probably the sufferer. But my intentions have been at +least innocent, since I look on it as one of the advantages attending the +conclusion of W<small>OODSTOCK</small>, that the finishing of my own task will +permit me to have the pleasure of reading +B<small>RAMBLETYE</small>-H<small>OUSE</small>, from which I have hitherto +conscientiously abstained. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>WOODSTOCK.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER THE FIRST.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Some were for gospel ministers,<br/> +And some for red-coat seculars,<br/> +As men most fit t’ hold forth the word,<br/> +And wield the one and th’ other sword.<br/> + Butler’s <i>Hudibras</i>. +</p> + +<p> +There is a handsome parish church in the town of Woodstock,—I am told so, +at least, for I never saw it, having scarce time, when at the place, to view +the magnificence of Blenheim, its painted halls, and tapestried bowers, and +then return in due season to dine in hall with my learned friend, the provost +of ——; being one of those occasions on which a man wrongs himself +extremely, if he lets his curiosity interfere with his punctuality. I had the +church accurately described to me, with a view to this work; but, as I have +some reason to doubt whether my informant had ever seen the inside of it +himself, I shall be content to say that it is now a handsome edifice, most part +of which was rebuilt forty or fifty years since, although it still contains +some arches of the old chantry, founded, it is said, by King John. It is to +this more ancient part of the building that my story refers. On a morning in +the end of September, or beginning of October, in the year 1652, being a day +appointed for a solemn thanksgiving for the decisive victory at Worcester, a +respectable audience was assembled in the old chantry, or chapel of King John. +The condition of the church and character of the audience both bore witness to +the rage of civil war, and the peculiar spirit of the times. The sacred edifice +showed many marks of dilapidation. The windows, once filled with stained glass, +had been dashed to pieces with pikes and muskets, as matters of and pertaining +to idolatry. The carving on the reading-desk was damaged, and two fair screens +of beautiful sculptured oak had been destroyed, for the same pithy and +conclusive reason. The high altar had been removed, and the gilded railing, +which was once around it, was broken down and carried off. The effigies of +several tombs were mutilated, and now lay scattered about the church, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Torn from their destined niche—unworthy meed<br/> +Of knightly counsel or heroic deed! +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +The autumn wind piped through empty aisles, in which the remains of stakes and +trevisses of rough-hewn timber, as well as a quantity of scattered hay and +trampled straw, seemed to intimate that the hallowed precincts had been, upon +some late emergency, made the quarters of a troop of horse. +</p> + +<p> +The audience, like the building, was abated in splendour. None of the ancient +and habitual worshippers during peaceful times, were now to be seen in their +carved galleries, with hands shadowing their brows, while composing their minds +to pray where their fathers had prayed, and after the same mode of worship. The +eye of the yeoman and peasant sought in vain the tall form of old Sir Henry +Lee, of Ditchley, as, wrapped in his lace cloak, and with beard and whiskers +duly composed, he moved slowly through the aisles, followed by the faithful +mastiff, or bloodhound, which in old time had saved his master by his fidelity, +and which regularly followed him to church. Bevis, indeed, fell under the +proverb which avers, “He is a good dog which goes to church;” for, +bating an occasional temptation to warble along with the accord, he behaved +himself as decorously as any of the congregation, and returned as much edified, +perhaps, as most of them. The damsels of Woodstock looked as vainly for the +laced cloaks, jingling spurs, slashed boots, and tall plumes, of the young +cavaliers of this and other high-born houses, moving through the streets and +the church-yard with the careless ease, which indicates perhaps rather an +overweening degree of self-confidence, yet shows graceful when mingled with +good-humour and courtesy. The good old dames, too, in their white hoods and +black velvet gowns—their daughters, “the cynosure of neighbouring +eyes,”—where were they all now, who, when they entered the church, +used to divide men’s thoughts between them and Heaven? “But, ah! +Alice Lee—so sweet, so gentle, so condescending in thy +loveliness—[thus proceeds a contemporary annalist, whose manuscript we +have deciphered]—why is my story to turn upon thy fallen fortunes? and +why not rather to the period when, in the very dismounting from your palfrey, +you attracted as many eyes as if an angel had descended,—as many +blessings as if the benignant being had come fraught with good tidings? No +creature wert thou of an idle romancer’s imagination—no being +fantastically bedizened with inconsistent perfections;—thy merits made me +love thee well—and for thy faults—so well did they show amid thy +good qualities, that I think they made me love thee better.” +</p> + +<p> +With the house of Lee had disappeared from the chantry of King John others of +gentle blood and honoured lineage—Freemantles, Winklecombes, Drycotts, +&c.; for the air that blew over the towers of Oxford was unfavourable to +the growth of Puritanism, which was more general in the neighbouring counties. +There were among the congregation, however, one or two that, by their habits +and demeanour, seemed country gentlemen of consideration, and there were also +present some of the notables of the town of Woodstock, cutlers or glovers +chiefly, whose skill in steel or leather had raised them to a comfortable +livelihood. These dignitaries wore long black cloaks, plaited close at the +neck, and, like peaceful citizens, carried their Bibles and memorandum-books at +their girdles, instead of knife or sword.<a href="#fn1.1" name="fnref1.1" id="fnref1.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +This respectable, but least numerous part of the audience, were such decent +persons as had adopted the Presbyterian form of faith, renouncing the liturgy +and hierarchy of the Church of England, and living under the tuition of the +Rev. Nehemiah Holdenough, much famed for the length and strength of his powers +of predication. With these grave seniors sate their goodly dames in ruff and +gorget, like the portraits which in catalogues of paintings are designed +“wife of a burgomaster;” and their pretty daughters, whose study, +like that of Chaucer’s physician, was not always in the Bible, but who +were, on the contrary, when a glance could escape the vigilance of their +honoured mothers, inattentive themselves, and the cause of inattention in +others. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn1.1" id="fn1.1"></a> <a href="#fnref1.1">[1]</a> +This custom among the Puritans is mentioned often in old plays, and among +others in the Widow of Watling Street. +</p> + +<p> +But, besides these dignified persons, there were in the church a numerous +collection of the lower orders, some brought thither by curiosity, but many of +them unwashed artificers, bewildered in the theological discussions of the +time, and of as many various sects as there are colours in the rainbow. The +presumption of these learned Thebans being in exact proportion to their +ignorance, the last was total and the first boundless. Their behaviour in the +church was any thing but reverential or edifying. Most of them affected a +cynical contempt for all that was only held sacred by human sanction—the +church was to these men but a steeple-house, the clergyman, an ordinary person; +her ordinances, dry bran and sapless pottage unfitted for the spiritualized +palates of the saints, and the prayer, an address to Heaven, to which each +acceded or not as in his too critical judgment he conceived fit. +</p> + +<p> +The elder amongst them sate or lay on the benches, with their high +steeple-crowned hats pulled over their severe and knitted brows, waiting for +the Presbyterian parson, as mastiffs sit in dumb expectation of the bull that +is to be brought to the stake. The younger mixed, some of them, a bolder +license of manners with their heresies; they gazed round on the women, yawned, +coughed, and whispered, eat apples, and cracked nuts, as if in the gallery of a +theatre ere the piece commences. +</p> + +<p> +Besides all these, the congregation contained a few soldiers, some in corslets +and steel caps, some in buff, and others in red coats. These men of war had +their bandeliers, with ammunition, slung around them, and rested on their pikes +and muskets. They, too, had their peculiar doctrines on the most difficult +points of religion, and united the extravagances of enthusiasm with the most +determined courage and resolution in the field. The burghers of Woodstock +looked on these military saints with no small degree of awe; for though not +often sullied with deeds of plunder or cruelty, they had the power of both +absolutely in their hands, and the peaceful citizen had no alternative, save +submission to whatever the ill-regulated and enthusiastic imaginations of their +martial guides might suggest. +</p> + +<p> +After some time spent in waiting for him, Mr. Holdenough began to walk up the +aisles of the chapel, not with the slow and dignified carriage with which the +old Rector was of yore wont to maintain the dignity of the surplice, but with a +hasty step, like one who arrives too late at an appointment, and bustles +forward to make the best use of his time. He was a tall thin man, with an adust +complexion, and the vivacity of his eye indicated some irascibility of +temperament. His dress was brown, not black, and over his other vestments he +wore, in honour of Calvin, a Geneva cloak of a blue colour, which fell +backwards from his shoulders as he posted on to the pulpit. His grizzled hair +was cut as short as shears could perform the feat, and covered with a black +silk scull-cap, which stuck so close to his head, that the two ears expanded +from under it as if they had been intended as handles by which to lift the +whole person. Moreover, the worthy divine wore spectacles, and a long grizzled +peaked beard, and he carried in his hand a small pocket-bible with silver +clasps. Upon arriving at the pulpit, he paused a moment to take breath, then +began to ascend the steps by two at a time. +</p> + +<p> +But his course was arrested by a strong hand, which seized his cloak. It was +that of one who had detached himself from the group of soldiery. He was a stout +man of middle stature, with a quick eye, and a countenance, which, though +plain, had yet an expression that fixed the attention. His dress, though not +strictly military, partook of that character. He wore large hose made of +calves-leather, and a tuck, as it was then called, or rapier, of tremendous +length, balanced on the other side by a dagger. The belt was morocco, garnished +with pistols. +</p> + +<p> +The minister, thus intercepted in his duty, faced round upon the party who had +seized him, and demanded, in no gentle tone, the meaning of the interruption. +</p> + +<p> +“Friend,” quoth the intruder, “is it thy purpose to hold +forth to these good people?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, marry is it,” said the clergyman, “and such is my +bounden duty. Woe to me if I preach not the gospel—Prithee, friend, let +me not in my labour”— +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said the man of warlike mien, “I am myself minded to +hold forth; therefore, do thou desist, or if thou wilt do by my advice, remain +and fructify with those poor goslings, to whom I am presently about to shake +forth the crumbs of comfortable doctrine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give place, thou man of Satan,” said the priest, waxing wroth, +“respect mine order—my cloth.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see no more to respect in the cut of thy cloak, or in the cloth of +which it is fashioned,” said the other, “than thou didst in the +Bishop’s rochets—they were black and white, thou art blue and +brown. Sleeping dogs every one of you, lying down, loving to +slumber—shepherds that starve the flock but will not watch it, each +looking to his own gain—hum.” +</p> + +<p> +Scenes of this indecent kind were so common at the time, that no one thought of +interfering; the congregation looked on in silence, the better class +scandalized, and the lower orders, some laughing, and others backing the +soldier or minister as their fancy dictated. Meantime the struggle waxed +fiercer; Mr. Holdenough clamoured for assistance. +</p> + +<p> +“Master Mayor of Woodstock,” he exclaimed, “wilt thou be +among those wicked magistrates, who bear the sword in vain?—Citizens, +will you not help your pastor?—Worthy Alderman, will you see me strangled +on the pulpit stairs by this man of buff and Belial?—But lo, I will +overcome him, and cast his cords from me.” +</p> + +<p> +As Holdenough spoke, he struggled to ascend the pulpit stairs, holding hard on +the banisters. His tormentor held fast by the skirts of the cloak, which went +nigh to the choking of the wearer, until, as he spoke the words last mentioned, +in a half-strangled voice, Mr. Holdenough dexterously slipped the string which +tied it round his neck, so that the garment suddenly gave way; the soldier fell +backwards down the steps, and the liberated divine skipped into the pulpit, and +began to give forth a psalm of triumph over his prostrate adversary. But a +great hubbub in the church marred his exultation, and although he and his +faithful clerk continued to sing the hymn of victory, their notes were only +heard by fits, like the whistle of a curlew during a gale of wind. +</p> + +<p> +The cause of the tumult was as follows:—The Mayor was a zealous +Presbyterian, and witnessed the intrusion of the soldier with great indignation +from the very beginning, though he hesitated to interfere with an armed man +while on his legs and capable of resistance. But no sooner did he behold the +champion of independency sprawling on his back, with the divine’s Geneva +cloak fluttering in his hands, than the magistrate rushed forward, exclaiming +that such insolence was not to be endured, and ordered his constables to seize +the prostrate champion, proclaiming, in the magnanimity of wrath, “I will +commit every red-coat of them all—I will commit him were he Noll Cromwell +himself!” +</p> + +<p> +The worthy Mayor’s indignation had overmastered his reason when he made +this mistimed vaunt; for three soldiers, who had hitherto stood motionless like +statues, made each a stride in advance, which placed them betwixt the municipal +officers and the soldier, who was in the act of rising; then making at once the +movement of resting arms according to the manual as then practised, their +musket-buts rang on the church pavement, within an inch of the gouty toes of +Master Mayor. The energetic magistrate, whose efforts in favour of order were +thus checked, cast one glance on his supporters, but that was enough to show +him that force was not on his side. All had shrunk back on hearing that ominous +clatter of stone and iron. He was obliged to descend to expostulation. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean, my masters?” said he; “is it like a decent +and God-fearing soldiery, who have wrought such things for the land as have +never before been heard of, to brawl and riot in the church, or to aid, abet, +and comfort a profane fellow, who hath, upon a solemn thanksgiving excluded the +minister from his own pulpit?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have nought to do with thy church, as thou call’st it,” +said he who, by a small feather in front of his morion, appeared to be the +corporal of the party;—“we see not why men of gifts should not be +heard within these citadels of superstition, as well as the voice of the men of +crape of old, and the men of cloak now. Wherefore, we will pluck yon Jack +Presbyter out of his wooden sentinel-box, and our own watchman shall relieve +the guard, and mount thereon, and cry aloud and spare not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, gentlemen,” said the Mayor, “if such be your purpose, +we have not the means to withstand you, being, as you see, peaceful and quiet +men—But let me first speak with this worthy minister, Nehemiah +Holdenough, to persuade him to yield up his place for the time without farther +scandal.” +</p> + +<p> +The peace-making Mayor then interrupted the quavering Holdenough and the clerk, +and prayed both to retire, else there would, he said, be certainly strife. +</p> + +<p> +“Strife!” replied the Presbyterian divine, with scorn; “no +fear of strife among men that dare not testify against this open profanation of +the Church, and daring display of heresy. Would your neighbours of Banbury have +brooked such an insult?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, Master Holdenough,” said the Mayor, “put us not +to mutiny and cry Clubs. I tell you once more, we are not men of war or +blood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not more than may be drawn by the point of a needle,” said the +preacher, scornfully.—“Ye tailors of Woodstock!—for what is a +glover but a tailor working on kidskin?—I forsake you, in scorn of your +faint hearts and feeble hands, and will seek me elsewhere a flock which will +not fly from their shepherd at the braying of the first wild ass which cometh +from out the great desert.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, the aggrieved divine departed from his pulpit, and shaking the dust +from his shoes, left the church as hastily as he had entered it, though with a +different reason for his speed. The citizens saw his retreat with sorrow, and +not without a compunctious feeling, as if conscious that they were not playing +the most courageous part in the world. The Mayor himself and several others +left the church, to follow and appease him. +</p> + +<p> +The Independent orator, late prostrate, was now triumphant, and inducting +himself into the pulpit without farther ceremony, he pulled a Bible from his +pocket, and selected his text from the forty-fifth psalm,—“Gird thy +sword upon thy thigh, O most mighty, with thy glory and thy majesty: and in thy +majesty ride prosperously.”—Upon this theme, he commenced one of +those wild declamations common at the period, in which men were accustomed to +wrest and pervert the language of Scripture, by adapting to it modern events.<a href="#fn1.2" name="fnref1.2" id="fnref1.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +The language which, in its literal sense, was applied to King David, and +typically referred to the coming of the Messiah, was, in the opinion of the +military orator, most properly to be interpreted of Oliver Cromwell, the +victorious general of the infant Commonwealth, which was never destined to come +of age. “Gird on thy sword!” exclaimed the preacher emphatically; +“and was not that a pretty bit of steel as ever dangled from a corslet, +or rung against a steel saddle? Ay, ye prick up your ears now, ye cutlers of +Woodstock, as if ye should know something of a good fox broad sword—Did +you forge it, I trow?—was the steel quenched with water from +Rosamond’s well, or the blade blessed by the old cuckoldy priest of +Godstow? You would have us think, I warrant me, that you wrought it and welded +it, grinded and polished it, and all the while it never came on a Woodstock +stithy! You were all too busy making whittles for the lazy crape-men of Oxford, +bouncing priests, whose eyes were so closed up with fat, that they could not +see Destruction till she had them by the throat. But I can tell you where the +sword was forged, and tempered, and welded, and grinded, and polished. When you +were, as I said before, making whittles for false priests, and daggers for +dissolute G—d d—n-me cavaliers, to cut the people of +England’s throats with—it was forged at Long Marston Moor, where +blows went faster than ever rung hammer on anvil—and it was tempered at +Naseby, in the best blood of the cavaliers—and it was welded in Ireland +against the walls of Drogheda—and it was grinded on Scottish lives at +Dunbar—and now of late it was polished in Worcester, till it shines as +bright as the sun in the middle heaven, and there is no light in England that +shall come nigh unto it.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn1.2" id="fn1.2"></a> <a href="#fnref1.2">[2]</a> +See “Vindication of the Book of Common Prayer, against the contumelious +Slanders of the Fanatic Party terming it Porridge.”<br/> + The author of this singular and rare tract indulges in the allegorical +style, till he fairly hunts down the allegory.<br/> + “But as for what you call porridge, who hatched the name I know not, +neither is it worth the enquiring after, for I hold porridge good food. It is +better to a sick man than meat, for a sick man will sooner eat pottage than +meat. Pottage will digest with him when meat will not: pottage will nourish the +blood, fill the veins, run into every part of a man, make him warmer; so will +these prayers do, set our soul and body in a heat, warm our devotion, work +fervency in us, lift up our soul to God. For there be herbs of God’s own +planting in our pottage as ye call it—the Ten Commandments, dainty herbs +to season any pottage in the world; there is the Lord’s Prayer, and that +is a most sweet pot-herb, cannot be denied; then there is also David’s +herbs, his prayers and psalms, helps to make our pottage relish well; the psalm +of the blessed Virgin, a good pot-herb. Though they be, as some term them, +<i>cock-crowed</i> pottage, yet they are as sweet, as good, as dainty, and as +fresh, as they were at first. The sun hath not made them sour with its heat, +neither hath the cold water taken away their vigour and strength. Compare them +with the Scriptures, and see if they be not as well seasoned and crumbed. If +you find any thing in them that is either too salt, too fresh, or too bitter, +that herb shall be taken out and better put in, if it can be got, or none. And +as in kitchen pottage there are many good herbs, so there is likewise in this +church pottage, as ye call it. For first, there is in kitchen pottage good +water to make them so; on the contrary, in the other pottage there is the water +of life. 2. There is salt, to season them; so in the other is a prayer of grace +to season their hearts. 3. There is oatmeal to nourish the body, in the other +is the bread of life. 4. There is thyme in them to relish them, and it is very +wholesome—in the other is the wholesome exhortation not to harden our +heart while it is called to-day. This relisheth well. 5. There is a small onion +to give a taste—in the other is a good herb, called Lord have mercy on +us. These, and many other holy herbs are contained in it, all boiling in the +heart of man, will make as good pottage as the world can afford, especially if +you use these herbs for digestion. The herb repentance, the herb grace, the +herb faith, the herb love, the herb hope, the herb good works, the herb +feeling, the herb zeal, the herb fervency, the herb ardency, the herb +constancy, with many more of this nature, most excellent for digestion.” +<i>Ohe! jam satis.</i> In this manner the learned divine hunts his metaphor at +a very cold scent, through a pamphlet of six mortal quarto pages.) +</p> + +<p> +Here the military part of the congregation raised a hum of approbation, which, +being a sound like the “hear, hear,” of the British House of +Commons, was calculated to heighten the enthusiasm of the orator, by intimating +the sympathy of the audience. “And then,” resumed the preacher, +rising in energy as he found that his audience partook in these feelings, +“what saith the text?—Ride on prosperously—do not +stop—do not call a halt—do not quit the saddle—pursue the +scattered fliers—sound the trumpet—not a levant or a flourish, but +a point of war—sound, boot and saddle—to horse and away—a +charge!—follow after the young Man!—what part have we in +him?—Slay, take, destroy, divide the spoil! Blessed art thou, Oliver, on +account of thine honour—thy cause is clear, thy call is +undoubted—never has defeat come near thy leading-staff, nor disaster +attended thy banner. Ride on, flower of England’s soldiers! ride on, +chosen leader of God’s champions! gird up the loins of thy resolution, +and be steadfast to the mark of thy high calling.” +</p> + +<p> +Another deep and stern hum, echoed by the ancient embow’d arches of the +old chantry, gave him an opportunity of an instant’s repose; when the +people of Woodstock heard him, and not without anxiety, turn the stream of his +oratory into another channel. +</p> + +<p> +“But wherefore, ye people of Woodstock, do I say these things to you, who +claim no portion in our David, no interest in England’s son of +Jesse?—You, who were fighting as well as your might could (and it was not +very formidable) for the late Man, under that old blood-thirsty papist Sir +Jacob Aston—are you not now plotting, or ready to plot, for the +restoring, as ye call it, of the young Man, the unclean son of the slaughtered +tyrant—the fugitive after whom the true hearts of England are now +following, that they may take and slay him?—‘Why should your rider +turn his bridle our way?’ say you in your hearts; ‘we will none of +him; if we may help ourselves, we will rather turn us to wallow in the mire of +monarchy, with the sow that was washed but newly.’ Come, men of +Woodstock, I will ask, and do you answer me. Hunger ye still after the +flesh-pots of the monks of Godstow? and ye will say, Nay;—but wherefore, +except that the pots are cracked and broken, and the fire is extinguished +wherewith thy oven used to boil? And again, I ask, drink ye still of the well +of fornications of the fair Rosamond?—ye will say, Nay;—but +wherefore?”— +</p> + +<p> +Here the orator, ere he could answer the question in his own way, was surprised +by the following reply, very pithily pronounced by one of the +congregation:—“Because you, and the like of you, have left us no +brandy to mix with it.” +</p> + +<p> +All eyes turned to the audacious speaker, who stood beside one of the thick +sturdy Saxon pillars, which he himself somewhat resembled, being short of +stature, but very strongly made, a squat broad Little John sort of figure, +leaning on a quarterstaff, and wearing a jerkin, which, though now sorely +stained and discoloured, had once been of the Lincoln green, and showed +remnants of having been laced. There was an air of careless, good humoured +audacity about the fellow; and, though under military restraint, there were +some of the citizens who could not help crying out,—“Well said, +Joceline Joliffe!” +</p> + +<p> +“Jolly Joceline, call ye him?” proceeded the preacher, without +showing either confusion or displeasure at the interruption,—“I +will make him Joceline of the jail, if he interrupts me again. One of your +park-keepers, I warrant, that can never forget they have borne C. R. upon their +badges and bugle-horns, even as a dog bears his owner’s name on his +collar—a pretty emblem for Christian men! But the brute beast hath the +better of him,—the brute weareth his own coat, and the caitiff thrall +wears his master’s. I have seen such a wag make a rope’s end wag +ere now.—Where was I?—Oh, rebuking you for your backslidings, men +of Woodstock.—Yes, then ye will say ye have renounced Popery, and ye have +renounced Prelacy, and then ye wipe your mouth like Pharisees, as ye are; and +who but you for purity of religion! But I tell you, ye are but like Jehu the +son of Nimshi, who broke down the house of Baal, yet departed not from the sins +of Jeroboam. Even so ye eat not fish on Friday with the blinded Papists, nor +minced-pies on the 25th day of December, like the slothful Prelatists; but ye +will gorge on sack-posset each night in the year with your blind Presbyterian +guide, and ye will speak evil of dignities, and revile the Commonwealth; and ye +will glorify yourselves in your park of Woodstock, and say, ‘Was it not +walled in first of any other in England, and that by Henry, son of William +called the Conqueror?’ And ye have a princely Lodge therein, and call the +same a Royal Lodge; and ye have an oak which ye call the King’s Oak; and +ye steal and eat the venison of the park, and ye say, ‘This is the +king’s venison, we will wash it down with a cup to the king’s +health—better we eat it than those round-headed commonwealth +knaves.’ But listen unto me and take warning. For these things come we to +controversy with you. And our name shall be a cannon-shot, before which your +Lodge, in the pleasantness whereof ye take pastime, shall be blown into ruins; +and we will be as a wedge to split asunder the King’s Oak into billets to +heat a brown baker’s oven; and we will dispark your park, and slay your +deer, and eat them ourselves, neither shall you have any portion thereof, +whether in neck or haunch. Ye shall not haft a ten-penny knife with the horns +thereof, neither shall ye cut a pair of breeches out of the hide, for all ye be +cutlers and glovers; and ye shall have no comfort or support neither from the +sequestered traitor Henry Lee, who called himself Ranger of Woodstock, nor from +any on his behalf; for they are coming hither who shall be called +Mahershalal-hash-baz, because he maketh haste to the spoil.” +</p> + +<p> +Here ended the wild effusion, the latter part of which fell heavy on the souls +of the poor citizens of Woodstock, as tending to confirm a report of an +unpleasing nature which had been lately circulated. The communication with +London was indeed slow, and the news which it transmitted were uncertain; no +less uncertain were the times themselves, and the rumours which were +circulated, exaggerated by the hopes and fears of so many various factions. But +the general stream of report, so far as Woodstock was concerned, had of late +run uniformly in one direction. Day after day they had been informed, that the +fatal fiat of Parliament had gone out, for selling the park of Woodstock, +destroying its lodge, disparking its forest, and erasing, as far as they could +be erased, all traces of its ancient fame. Many of the citizens were likely to +be sufferers on this occasion, as several of them enjoyed, either by sufferance +or right, various convenient privileges of pasturage, cutting firewood, and the +like, in the royal chase; and all the inhabitants of the little borough were +hurt to think, that the scenery of the place was to be destroyed, its edifices +ruined, and its honours rent away. This is a patriotic sensation often found in +such places, which ancient distinctions and long-cherished recollections of +former days, render so different from towns of recent date. The natives of +Woodstock felt it in the fullest force. They had trembled at the anticipated +calamity; but now, when it was announced by the appearance of those dark, +stern, and at the same time omnipotent soldiers—now that they heard it +proclaimed by the mouth of one of their military preachers—they +considered their fate as inevitable. The causes of disagreement among +themselves were for the time forgotten, as the congregation, dismissed without +psalmody or benediction, went slowly and mournfully homeward, each to his own +place of abode. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER THE SECOND.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Come forth, old man—Thy daughter’s side<br/> + Is now the fitting place for thee:<br/> +When time hath quell’d the oak’s bold pride,<br/> + The youthful tendril yet may hide<br/> + The ruins of the parent tree. +</p> + +<p> +When the sermon was ended, the military orator wiped his brow; for, +notwithstanding the coolness of the weather, he was heated with the vehemence +of his speech and action. He then descended from the pulpit, and spoke a word +or two to the corporal who commanded the party of soldiers, who, replying by a +sober nod of intelligence, drew his men together, and marched them in order to +their quarters in the town. +</p> + +<p> +The preacher himself, as if nothing extraordinary had happened, left the church +and sauntered through the streets of Woodstock, with the air of a stranger who +was viewing the town, without seeming to observe that he was himself in his +turn anxiously surveyed by the citizens, whose furtive yet frequent glances +seemed to regard him as something alike suspected and dreadful, yet on no +account to be provoked. He heeded them not, but stalked on in the manner +affected by the distinguished fanatics of the day; a stiff solemn pace, a +severe and at the same time a contemplative look, like that of a man +discomposed at the interruptions which earthly objects forced upon him, +obliging him by their intrusion to withdraw his thoughts for an instant from +celestial things. Innocent pleasures of what kind soever they held in suspicion +and contempt, and innocent mirth they abominated. It was, however, a cast of +mind that formed men for great and manly actions, as it adopted principle, and +that of an unselfish character, for the ruling motive, instead of the +gratification of passion. Some of these men were indeed hypocrites, using the +cloak of religion only as a covering for their ambition; but many really +possessed the devotional character, and the severe republican virtue, which +others only affected. By far the greater number hovered between these extremes, +felt to a certain extent the power of religion, and complied with the times in +affecting a great deal. +</p> + +<p> +The individual, whose pretensions to sanctity, written as they were upon his +brow and gait, have given rise to the above digression, reached at length the +extremity of the principal street, which terminates upon the park of Woodstock. +A battlemented portal of Gothic appearance defended the entrance to the avenue. +It was of mixed architecture, but on the whole, though composed of the styles +of the different ages when it had received additions, had a striking and +imposing effect. An immense gate, composed of rails of hammered iron, with many +a flourish and scroll, displaying as its uppermost ornament the ill-fated +cipher of C. R., was now decayed, being partly wasted with rust, partly by +violence. +</p> + +<p> +The stranger paused, as if uncertain whether he should demand or assay +entrance. He looked through the grating down an avenue skirted by majestic +oaks, which led onward with a gentle curve, as if into the depths of some ample +and ancient forest. The wicket of the large iron gate being left unwittingly +open, the soldier was tempted to enter, yet with some hesitation, as he that +intrudes upon ground which he conjectures may be prohibited—indeed his +manner showed more reverence for the scene than could have been expected from +his condition and character. He slackened his stately and consequential pace, +and at length stood still, and looked around him. +</p> + +<p> +Not far from the gate, he saw rising from the trees one or two ancient and +venerable turrets, bearing each its own vane of rare device glittering in the +autumn sun. These indicated the ancient hunting seat, or Lodge, as it was +called, which had, since the time of Henry II., been occasionally the residence +of the English monarchs, when it pleased them to visit the woods of Oxford, +which then so abounded with game, that, according to old Fuller, huntsmen and +falconers were nowhere better pleased. The situation which the Lodge occupied +was a piece of flat ground, now planted with sycamores, not far from the +entrance to that magnificent spot where the spectator first stops to gaze upon +Blenheim, to think of Marlborough’s victories, and to applaud or +criticise the cumbrous magnificence of Vanburgh’s style. +</p> + +<p> +There, too, paused our military preacher, but with other thoughts, and for +other purpose, than to admire the scene around him. It was not long afterwards +when he beheld two persons, a male and a female, approaching slowly, and so +deeply engaged in their own conversation that they did not raise their eyes to +observe that there stood a stranger in the path before them. The soldier took +advantage of their state of abstraction, and, desirous at once to watch their +motions and avoid their observation, he glided beneath one of the huge trees +which skirted the path, and whose boughs, sweeping the ground on every side, +ensured him against discovery, unless in case of an actual search. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, the gentleman and lady continued to advance, directing their +course to a rustic seat, which still enjoyed the sunbeams, and was placed +adjacent to the tree where the stranger was concealed. +</p> + +<p> +The man was elderly, yet seemed bent more by sorrow and infirmity than by the +weight of years. He wore a mourning cloak, over a dress of the same melancholy +colour, cut in that picturesque form which Vandyck has rendered immortal. But +although the dress was handsome, it was put on with a carelessness which showed +the mind of the wearer ill at ease. His aged, yet still handsome countenance, +had the same air of consequence which distinguished his dress and his gait. A +striking part of his appearance was a long white beard, which descended far +over the breast of his slashed doublet, and looked singular from its contrast +in colour with his habit. +</p> + +<p> +The young lady, by whom this venerable gentleman seemed to be in some degree +supported as they walked arm in arm, was a slight and sylphlike form, with a +person so delicately made, and so beautiful in countenance, that it seemed the +earth on which she walked was too grossly massive a support for a creature so +aerial. But mortal beauty must share human sorrows. The eyes of the beautiful +being showed tokens of tears; her colour was heightened as she listened to her +aged companion; and it was plain, from his melancholy yet displeased look, that +the conversation was as distressing to himself as to her. When they sate down +on the bench we have mentioned, the gentleman’s discourse could be +distinctly overheard by the eavesdropping soldier, but the answers of the young +lady reached his ear rather less distinctly. +</p> + +<p> +“It is not to be endured!” said the old man, passionately; +“it would stir up a paralytic wretch to start up a soldier. My people +have been thinned, I grant you, or have fallen off from me in these +times—I owe them no grudge for it, poor knaves; what should they do +waiting on me when the pantry has no bread and the buttery no ale? But we have +still about us some rugged foresters of the old Woodstock breed—old as +myself most of them—what of that? old wood seldom warps in the +wetting;—I will hold out the old house, and it will not be the first time +that I have held it against ten times the strength that we hear of now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! my dear father!”—said the young lady, in a tone which +seemed to intimate his proposal of defence to be altogether desperate. +</p> + +<p> +“And why, alas?” said the gentleman, angrily; “is it because +I shut my door against a score or two of these blood-thirsty hypocrites?” +</p> + +<p> +“But their masters can as easily send a regiment or an army, if they +will,” replied the lady; “and what good would your present defence +do, excepting to exasperate them to your utter destruction?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be it so, Alice,” replied her father; “I have lived my time, +and beyond it. I have outlived the kindest and most princelike of masters. What +do I do on the earth since the dismal thirtieth of January? The parricide of +that day was a signal to all true servants of Charles Stewart to avenge his +death, or die as soon after as they could find a worthy opportunity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not speak thus, sir,” said Alice Lee; “it does not become +your gravity and your worth to throw away that life which may yet be of service +to your king and country,—it will not and cannot always be thus. England +will not long endure the rulers which these bad times have assigned her. In the +meanwhile—[here a few words escaped the listener’s ears]—and +beware of that impatience, which makes bad worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Worse?” exclaimed the impatient old man, “<i>What</i> can be +worse? Is it not at the worst already? Will not these people expel us from the +only shelter we have left—dilapidate what remains of royal property under +my charge—make the palace of princes into a den of thieves, and then wipe +their mouths and thank God, as if they had done an alms-deed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Still,” said his daughter, “there is hope behind, and I +trust the King is ere this out of their reach—We have reason to think +well of my brother Albert’s safety.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, Albert! there again,” said the old man, in a tone of reproach; +“had it not been for thy entreaties I had gone to Worcester myself; but I +must needs lie here like a worthless hound when the hunt is up, when who knows +what service I might have shown? An old man’s head is sometimes useful +when his arm is but little worth. But you and Albert were so desirous that he +should go alone—and now, who can say what has become of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, father,” said Alice, “we have good hope that +Albert escaped from that fatal day; young Abney saw him a mile from the +field.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young Abney lied, I believe,” said the father, in the same humour +of contradiction—“Young Abney’s tongue seems quicker than his +hands, but far slower than his horse’s heels when he leaves the +roundheads behind him. I would rather Albert’s dead body were laid +between Charles and Cromwell, than hear he fled as early as young Abney.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dearest father,” said the young lady, weeping as she spoke, +“what can I say to comfort you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Comfort me, say’st thou, girl? I am sick of comfort—an +honourable death, with the ruins of Woodstock for my monument, were the only +comfort to old Henry Lee. Yes, by the memory of my fathers! I will make good +the Lodge against these rebellious robbers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet be ruled, dearest father,” said the maiden, “and submit +to that which we cannot gainsay. My uncle Everard”— +</p> + +<p> +Here the old man caught at her unfinished words. “Thy uncle Everard, +wench!—Well, get on.—What of thy precious and loving uncle +Everard?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, sir,” she said, “if the subject displeases +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Displeases me?” he replied, “why should it displease me? or +if it did, why shouldst thou, or any one, affect to care about it? What is it +that hath happened of late years—what is it can be thought to happen that +astrologer can guess at, which can give pleasure to us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fate,” she replied, “may have in store the joyful +restoration of our banished Prince.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too late for my time, Alice,” said the knight; “if there be +such a white page in the heavenly book, it will not be turned until long after +my day.—But I see thou wouldst escape me.—In a word, what of thy +uncle Everard?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sir,” said Alice, “God knows I would rather be silent +for ever, than speak what might, as you would take it, add to your present +distemperature.” +</p> + +<p> +“Distemperature!” said her father; “Oh, thou art a sweet +lipped physician, and wouldst, I warrant me, drop nought but sweet balm, and +honey, and oil, on my distemperature—if that is the phrase for an old +man’s ailment, when he is wellnigh heart-broken.—Once more, what of +thy uncle Everard?” +</p> + +<p> +His last words were uttered in a high and peevish tone of voice; and Alice Lee +answered her father in a trembling and submissive tone. +</p> + +<p> +“I only meant to say, sir, that I am well assured that my uncle Everard, +when we quit this place”— +</p> + +<p> +“That is to say, when we are kicked out of it by crop-eared canting +villains like himself.—But on with thy bountiful uncle—what will he +do?—will he give us the remains of his worshipful and economical +housekeeping, the fragments of a thrice-sacked capon twice a-week, and a +plentiful fast on the other five days?—Will he give us beds beside his +half-starved nags, and put them under a short allowance of straw, that his +sister’s husband—that I should have called my deceased angel by +such a name!—and his sister’s daughter, may not sleep on the +stones? Or will he send us a noble each, with a warning to make it last, for he +had never known the ready-penny so hard to come by? Or what else will your +uncle Everard do for us? Get us a furlough to beg? Why, I can do that without +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You misconstrue him much,” answered Alice, with more spirit than +she had hitherto displayed; “and would you but question your own heart, +you would acknowledge—I speak with reverence—that your tongue +utters what your better judgment would disown. My uncle Everard is neither a +miser nor a hypocrite—neither so fond of the goods of this world that he +would not supply our distresses amply, nor so wedded to fanatical opinions as +to exclude charity for other sects beside his own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay, the Church of England is a <i>sect</i> with him, I doubt not, +and perhaps with thee too, Alice,” said the knight. “What is a +Muggletonian, or a Ranter, or a Brownist, but a sectary? and thy phrase places +them all, with Jack Presbyter himself, on the same footing with our learned +prelates and religious clergy! Such is the cant of the day thou livest in, and +why shouldst thou not talk like one of the wise virgins and psalm-singing +sisters, since, though thou hast a profane old cavalier for a father, thou art +own niece to pious uncle Everard?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you speak thus, my dear father,” said Alice, “what can I +answer you? Hear me but one patient word, and I shall have discharged my uncle +Everard’s commission.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it is a commission, then? Surely, I suspected so much from the +beginning—nay, have some sharp guess touching the ambassador also.— +Come, madam, the mediator, do your errand, and you shall have no reason to +complain of my patience.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, sir,” replied his daughter, “my uncle Everard desires +you would be courteous to the commissioners, who come here to sequestrate the +parks and the property; or, at least, heedfully to abstain from giving them +obstacle or opposition: it can, he says, do no good, even on your own +principles, and it will give a pretext for proceeding against you as one in the +worst degree of malignity, which he thinks may otherwise be prevented. Nay, he +has good hope, that if you follow his counsel, the committee may, through the +interest he possesses, be inclined to remove the sequestration of your estate +on a moderate line. Thus says my uncle; and having communicated his advice, I +have no occasion to urge your patience with farther argument.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well thou dost not, Alice,” answered Sir Henry Lee, in a +tone of suppressed anger; “for, by the blessed Rood, thou hast well nigh +led me into the heresy of thinking thee no daughter of mine.—Ah! my +beloved companion, who art now far from the sorrows and cares of this weary +world, couldst thou have thought that the daughter thou didst clasp to thy +bosom, would, like the wicked wife of Job, become a temptress to her father in +the hour of affliction, and recommend to him to make his conscience truckle to +his interest, and to beg back at the bloody hands of his master’s and +perhaps his son’s murderers, a wretched remnant of the royal property he +has been robbed of!—Why, wench, if I must beg, think’st thou I will +sue to those who have made me a mendicant? No. I will never show my grey beard, +worn in sorrow for my sovereign’s death, to move the compassion of some +proud sequestrator, who perhaps was one of the parricides. No. If Henry Lee +must sue for food, it shall be of some sound loyalist like himself, who, having +but half a loaf remaining, will not nevertheless refuse to share it with him. +For his daughter, she may wander her own way, which leads her to a refuge with +her wealthy roundhead kinsfolk; but let her no more call him father, whose +honest indigence she has refused to share!” +</p> + +<p> +“You do me injustice, sir,” answered the young lady, with a voice +animated yet faltering, “cruel injustice. God knows, your way is my way, +though it lead to ruin and beggary; and while you tread it, my arm shall +support you while you will accept an aid so feeble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou word’st me, girl,” answered the old cavalier, +“thou word’st me, as Will Shakspeare says—thou speakest of +lending me thy arm; but thy secret thought is thyself to hang upon Markham +Everard’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“My father, my father,” answered Alice, in a tone of deep grief, +“what can thus have altered your clear judgment and kindly +heart!—Accursed be these civil commotions; not only do they destroy +men’s bodies, but they pervert their souls; and the brave, the noble, the +generous, become suspicious, harsh, and mean! Why upbraid me with Markham +Everard? Have I seen or spoke to him since you forbid him my company, with +terms less kind—I will speak it truly—than was due even to the +relationship betwixt you? Why think I would sacrifice to that young man my duty +to you? Know, that were I capable of such criminal weakness, Markham Everard +were the first to despise me for it.” +</p> + +<p> +She put her handkerchief to her eyes, but she could not hide her sobs, nor +conceal the distress they intimated. The old man was moved. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot tell,” he said, “what to think of it. Thou +seem’st sincere, and wert ever a good and kindly daughter—how thou +hast let that rebel youth creep into thy heart I wot not; perhaps it is a +punishment on me, who thought the loyalty of my house was like undefiled +ermine. Yet here is a damned spot, and on the fairest gem of all—my own +dear Alice. But do not weep—we have enough to vex us. Where is it that +Shakspeare hath it:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Gentle daughter,<br/> +Give even way unto my rough affairs:<br/> +Put you not on the temper of the times,<br/> +Nor be, like them, to Percy troublesome.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad,” answered the young lady, “to hear you quote your +favourite again, sir. Our little jars are ever wellnigh ended when Shakspeare +comes in play.” +</p> + +<p> +“His book was the closet-companion of my blessed master,” said Sir +Henry Lee; “after the Bible, (with reverence for naming them together,) +he felt more comfort in it than in any other; and as I have shared his disease, +why, it is natural I should take his medicine. Albeit, I pretend not to my +master’s art in explaining the dark passages; for I am but a rude man, +and rustically brought up to arms and hunting.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have seen Shakspeare yourself, sir?” said the young lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Silly wench,” replied the knight, “he died when I was a mere +child—thou hast heard me say so twenty times; but thou wouldst lead the +old man away from the tender subject. Well, though I am not blind, I can shut +my eyes and follow. Ben Jonson I knew, and could tell thee many a tale of our +meetings at the Mermaid, where, if there was much wine, there was much wit +also. We did not sit blowing tobacco in each other’s faces, and turning +up the whites of our eyes as we turned up the bottom of the wine-pot. Old Ben +adopted me as one of his sons in the muses. I have shown you, have I not, the +verses, ‘To my much beloved son, the worshipful Sir Henry Lee of +Ditchley, Knight and Baronet?’” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not remember them at present, sir,” replied Alice. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear ye lie, wench,” said her father; “but no +matter—thou canst not get any more fooling out of me just now. The Evil +Spirit hath left Saul for the present. We are now to think what is to be done +about leaving Woodstock—or defending it?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dearest father,” said Alice, “can you still nourish a +moment’s hope of making good the place?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know not, wench,” replied Sir Henry; “I would fain have a +parting blow with them, ’tis certain—and who knows where a blessing +may alight? But then, my poor knaves that must take part with me in so hopeless +a quarrel—that thought hampers me I confess.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, let it do so, sir,” replied Alice; “there are soldiers +in the town, and there are three regiments at Oxford!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, poor Oxford!” exclaimed Sir Henry, whose vacillating state of +mind was turned by a word to any new subject that was +suggested,—“Seat of learning and loyalty! these rude soldiers are +unfit inmates for thy learned halls and poetical bowers; but thy pure and +brilliant lamp shall defy the foul breath of a thousand churls, were they to +blow at it like Boreas. The burning bush shall not be consumed, even by the +heat of this persecution.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, sir,” said Alice, “and it may not be useless to +recollect, that any stirring of the royalists at this unpropitious moment will +make them deal yet more harshly with the University, which they consider as +being at the bottom of every thing which moves for the King in these +parts.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is true, wench,” replied the knight; “and small cause +would make the villains sequestrate the poor remains which the civil wars have +left to the colleges. That, and the risk of my poor fellows—Well! thou +hast disarmed me, girl. I will be as patient and calm as a martyr.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray God you keep your word, sir!” replied his daughter; +“but you are ever so much moved at the sight of any of these men, +that”— +</p> + +<p> +“Would you make a child of me, Alice?” said Sir Henry. “Why, +know you not that I can look upon a viper, or a toad, or a bunch of engendering +adders, without any worse feeling than a little disgust? and though a +roundhead, and especially a red-coat, are in my opinion more poisonous than +vipers, more loathsome than toads, more hateful than knotted adders, yet can I +overcome my nature so far, that should one of them appear at this moment, +thyself should see how civilly I would entreat him.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, the military preacher abandoned his leafy screen, and stalking +forward, stood unexpectedly before the old cavalier, who stared at him, as if +he had thought his expressions had actually raised a devil. +</p> + +<p> +“Who art thou?” at length said Sir Henry, in a raised and angry +voice, while his daughter clung to his arm in terror, little confident that her +father’s pacific resolutions would abide the shock of this unwelcome +apparition. +</p> + +<p> +“I am, one,” replied the soldier, “who neither fear nor shame +to call myself a poor day-labourer in the great work of +England—umph!—Ay, a simple and sincere upholder of the good old +cause.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what the devil do you seek here?” said the old knight, +fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“The welcome due to the steward of the Lords Commissioners,” +answered the soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome art thou as salt would be to sore eyes,” said the +cavalier; “but who be your Commissioners, man?” +</p> + +<p> +The soldier with little courtesy held out a scroll, which Sir Henry took from +him betwixt his finger and thumb, as if it were a letter from a pest-house; and +held it at as much distance from his eyes, as his purpose of reading it would +permit. He then read aloud, and as he named the parties one by one, he added a +short commentary on each name, addressed, indeed, to Alice, but in such a tone +that showed he cared not for its being heard by the soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Desborough</i>—the ploughman Desborough—as grovelling a +clown as is in England—a fellow that would be best at home like an +ancient Scythian, under the tilt of a waggon—d—n him. +<i>Harrison</i>—a bloody-minded, ranting enthusiast, who read the Bible +to such purpose, that he never lacked a text to justify a +murder—d—n him too. <i>Bletson</i>—a true-blue +Commonwealth’s man, one of Harrison’s Rota Club, with his noddle +full of new fangled notions about government, the clearest object of which is +to establish the tail upon the head; a fellow who leaves you the statutes and +law of old England, to prate of Rome and Greece—sees the Areopagus in +Westminster-Hall, and takes old Noll for a Roman consul—Adad, he is like +to prove a dictator amongst them instead. Never mind—d—n Bletson +too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Friend,” said the soldier, “I would willingly be civil, but +it consists not with my duty to hear these godly men, in whose service I am, +spoken of after this irreverent and unbecoming fashion. And albeit I know that +you malignants think you have a right to make free with that damnation, which +you seem to use as your own portion, yet it is superfluous to invoke it against +others, who have better hopes in their thoughts, and better words in their +mouths.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art but a canting varlet,” replied the knight; “and yet +thou art right in some sense—for it is superfluous to curse men who +already are damned as black as the smoke of hell itself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I prithee forbear,” continued the soldier, “for +manners’ sake, if not for conscience—grisly oaths suit ill with +grey beards.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, that is truth, if the devil spoke it,” said the knight; +“and I thank Heaven I can follow good counsel, though old Nick gives it. +And so, friend, touching these same Commissioners, bear them this message; that +Sir Henry Lee is keeper of Woodstock Park, with right of waif and stray, vert +and venison, as complete as any of them have to their estate—that is, if +they possess any estate but what they have gained by plundering honest men. +Nevertheless, he will give place to those who have made their might their +right, and will not expose the lives of good and true men, where the odds are +so much against them. And he protests that he makes this surrender, neither as +acknowledging of these so termed Commissioners, nor as for his own individual +part fearing their force, but purely to avoid the loss of English blood, of +which so much hath been spilt in these late times.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well spoken,” said the steward of the Commissioners; +“and therefore, I pray you, let us walk together into the house, that +thou may’st deliver up unto me the vessels, and gold and silver +ornaments, belonging unto the Egyptian Pharaoh, who committed them to thy +keeping.” +</p> + +<p> +“What vessels?” exclaimed the fiery old knight; “and +belonging to whom? Unbaptized dog, speak civil of the Martyr in my presence, or +I will do a deed misbecoming of me on that caitiff corpse of +thine!”—And shaking his daughter from his right arm, the old man +laid his hand on his rapier. +</p> + +<p> +His antagonist, on the contrary, kept his temper completely, and waving his +hand to add impression to his speech, he said, with a calmness which aggravated +Sir Henry’s wrath, “Nay, good friend, I prithee be still, and brawl +not—it becomes not grey hairs and feeble arms to rail and rant like +drunkards. Put me not to use the carnal weapon in mine own defence, but listen +to the voice of reason. See’st thou not that the Lord hath decided this +great controversy in favour of us and ours, against thee and thine? Wherefore, +render up thy stewardship peacefully, and deliver up to me the chattels of the +Man, Charles Stewart.” +</p> + +<p> +“Patience is a good nag, but she will bolt,” said the knight, +unable longer to rein in his wrath. He plucked his sheathed rapier from his +side, struck the soldier a severe blow with it, and instantly drawing it, and +throwing the scabbard over the trees, placed himself in a posture of defence, +with his sword’s point within half a yard of the steward’s body. +The latter stepped back with activity, threw his long cloak from his shoulders, +and drawing his long tuck, stood upon his guard. The swords clashed smartly +together, while Alice, in her terror, screamed wildly for assistance. But the +combat was of short duration. The old cavalier had attacked a man as cunning of +fence as he himself, or a little more so, and possessing all the strength and +activity of which time had deprived Sir Henry, and the calmness which the other +had lost in his passion. They had scarce exchanged three passes ere the sword +of the knight flew up in the air, as if it had gone in search of the scabbard; +and burning with shame and anger, Sir Henry stood disarmed, at the mercy of his +antagonist. The republican showed no purpose of abusing his victory; nor did +he, either during the combat, or after the victory was won, in any respect +alter the sour and grave composure which reigned upon his countenance—a +combat of life and death seemed to him a thing as familiar, and as little to be +feared, as an ordinary bout with foils. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art delivered into my hands,” he said, “and by the law +of arms I might smite thee under the fifth rib, even as Asahel was struck dead +by Abner, the son of Ner, as he followed the chase on the hill of Ammah, that +lieth before Giah, in the way of the wilderness of Gibeon; but far be it from +me to spill thy remaining drops of blood. True it is, thou art the captive of +my sword and of my spear; nevertheless, seeing that there may be a turning from +thy evil ways, and a returning to those which are good, if the Lord enlarge thy +date for repentance and amendment, wherefore should it be shortened by a poor +sinful mortal, who is, speaking truly, but thy fellow-worm.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry Lee remained still confused, and unable to answer, when there arrived +a fourth person, whom the cries of Alice had summoned to the spot. This was +Joceline Joliffe, one of the under-keepers of the walk, who, seeing how matters +stood, brandished his quarterstaff, a weapon from which he never parted, and +having made it describe the figure of eight in a flourish through the air, +would have brought it down with a vengeance upon the head of the steward, had +not Sir Henry interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“We must trail bats now, Joceline—our time of shouldering them is +past. It skills not striving against the stream—the devil rules the +roast, and makes our slaves our tutors.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment another auxiliary rushed out of the thicket to the +knight’s assistance. It was a large wolf-dog, in strength a mastiff, in +form and almost in fleetness a greyhound. Bevis was the noblest of the kind +which ever pulled down a stag, tawny coloured like a lion, with a black muzzle +and black feet, just edged with a line of white round the toes. He was as +tractable as he was strong and bold. Just as he was about to rush upon the +soldier, the words, “Peace, Bevis!” from Sir Henry, converted the +lion into a lamb, and instead of pulling the soldier down, he walked round and +round, and snuffed, as if using all his sagacity to discover who the stranger +could be, towards whom, though of so questionable an appearance, he was +enjoined forbearance. Apparently he was satisfied, for he laid aside his +doubtful and threatening demonstrations, lowered his ears, smoothed down his +bristles, and wagged his tail. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry, who had great respect for the sagacity of his favourite, said in a +low voice to Alice, “Bevis is of thy opinion and counsels submission. +There is the finger of Heaven in this to punish the pride, ever the fault of +our house.—Friend,” he continued, addressing the soldier, +“thou hast given the finishing touch to a lesson, which ten years of +constant misfortune have been unable fully to teach me. Thou hast distinctly +shown me the folly of thinking that a good cause can strengthen a weak arm. God +forgive me for the thought, but I could almost turn infidel, and believe that +Heaven’s blessing goes ever with the longest sword; but it will not be +always thus. God knows his time.—Reach me my Toledo, Joceline, yonder it +lies; and the scabbard, see where it hangs on the tree.—Do not pull at my +cloak, Alice, and look so miserably frightened; I shall be in no hurry to +betake me to bright steel again, I promise thee.—For thee, good fellow, I +thank thee, and will make way for thy masters without farther dispute or +ceremony. Joceline Joliffe is nearer thy degree than I am, and will make +surrender to thee of the Lodge and household stuff. Withhold nothing, +Joliffe—let them have all. For me, I will never cross the threshold +again—but where to rest for a night? I would trouble no one in +Woodstock—hum—ay—it shall be so. Alice and I, Joceline, will +go down to thy hut by Rosamond’s well; we will borrow the shelter of thy +roof for one night at least; thou wilt give us welcome, wilt thou +not?—How now—a clouded brow?” +</p> + +<p> +Joceline certainly looked embarrassed, directed a first glance to Alice, then +looked to Heaven, then to earth, and last to the four quarters of the horizon, +and then murmured out, “Certainly—without question—might he +but run down to put the house in order.” +</p> + +<p> +“Order enough—order enough for those that may soon be glad of clean +straw in a barn,” said the knight; “but if thou hast an ill-will to +harbour any obnoxious or malignant persons, as the phrase goes, never shame to +speak it out, man. ’Tis true, I took thee up when thou wert but a ragged +Robin,<a href="#fn2.1" name="fnref2.1" id="fnref2.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> made a +keeper of thee, and so forth. What of that? Sailors think no longer of the wind +than when it forwards them on the voyage—thy betters turn with the tide, +why should not such a poor knave as thou?” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn2.1" id="fn2.1"></a> <a href="#fnref2.1">[1]</a> +The keeper’s followers in the New Forest are called in popular language +ragged Robins. +</p> + +<p> +“God pardon your honour for your harsh judgment,” said Joliffe. +“The hut is yours, such as it is, and should be were it a King’s +palace, as I wish it were even for your honour’s sake, and Mistress +Alice’s—only I could wish your honour would condescend to let me +step down before, in case any neighbour be there—or—or—just +to put matters something into order for Mistress Alice and your +honour—just to make things something seemly and shapely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a whit necessary,” said the knight, while Alice had much +trouble in concealing her agitation. “If thy matters are unseemly, they +are fitter for a defeated knight—if they are unshapely, why, the liker to +the rest of a world, which is all unshaped. Go thou with that man.—What +is thy name, friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“Joseph Tomkins is my name in the flesh,” said the steward. +“Men call me Honest Joe, and Trusty Tomkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“If thou hast deserved such names, considering what trade thou hast +driven, thou art a jewel indeed,” said the knight; “yet if thou +hast not, never blush for the matter, Joseph, for if thou art not in truth +honest, thou hast all the better chance to keep the fame of it—the title +and the thing itself have long walked separate ways. Farewell to +thee,—and farewell to fair Woodstock!” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, the old knight turned round, and pulling his daughter’s arm +through his own, they walked onward into the forest, in the same manner in +which they were introduced to the reader. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRD.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Now, ye wild blades, that make loose inns your stage,<br/> +To vapour forth the acts of this sad age,<br/> +Stout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the West,<br/> +And northern clashes, where you still fought best;<br/> +Your strange escapes, your dangers void of fear,<br/> +When bullets flew between the head and ear,<br/> +Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit,<br/> +Of you I speak. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +L<small>EGEND OF</small> C<small>APTAIN</small> J<small>ONES</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Joseph Tomkins and Joliffe the keeper remained for some time in silence, as +they stood together looking along the path in which the figures of the Knight +of Ditchley and pretty Mistress Alice had disappeared behind the trees. They +then gazed on each other in doubt, as men who scarce knew whether they stood on +hostile or on friendly terms together, and were at a loss how to open a +conversation. They heard the knight’s whistle summon Bevis; but though +the good hound turned his head and pricked his ears at the sound, yet he did +not obey the call, but continued to snuff around Joseph Tomkins’s cloak. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art a rare one, I fear me,” said the keeper, looking to his +new acquaintance. “I have heard of men who have charms to steal both dogs +and deer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Trouble not thyself about my qualities, friend,” said Joseph +Tomkins, “but bethink thee of doing thy master’s bidding.” +</p> + +<p> +Joceline did not immediately answer, but at length, as if in sign of truce, +stuck the end of his quarterstaff upright in the ground, and leant upon it as +he said gruffly,—“So, my tough old knight and you were at drawn +bilbo, by way of afternoon service, sir preacher—Well for you I came not +up till the blades were done jingling, or I had rung even-song upon your +pate.” +</p> + +<p> +The Independent smiled grimly as he replied, “Nay, friend, it is well for +thyself, for never should sexton have been better paid for the knell he tolled. +Nevertheless, why should there be war betwixt us, or my hand be against thine? +Thou art but a poor knave, doing thy master’s order, nor have I any +desire that my own blood or thine should be shed touching this +matter.—Thou art, I understand, to give me peaceful possession of the +Palace of Woodstock, so called—though there is now no palace in England, +no, nor shall be in the days that come after, until we shall enter the palace +of the New Jerusalem, and the reign of the Saints shall commence on +earth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty well begun already, friend Tomkins,” said the keeper; +“you are little short of being kings already upon the matter as it now +stands; and for your Jerusalem I wot not, but Woodstock is a pretty nest-egg to +begin with.—Well, will you shog—will you on—will you take +sasine and livery?—You heard my orders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Umph—I know not,” said Tomkins. “I must beware of +ambuscades, and I am alone here. Moreover, it is the High Thanksgiving +appointed by Parliament, and owned to by the army—also the old man and +the young woman may want to recover some of their clothes and personal +property, and I would not that they were baulked on my account. Wherefore, if +thou wilt deliver me possession to-morrow morning, it shall be done in personal +presence of my own followers, and of the Presbyterian man the Mayor, so that +the transfer may be made before witnesses; whereas, were there none with us but +thou to deliver, and I to take possession, the men of Belial might say, Go to, +Trusty Tomkins hath been an Edomite— Honest Joe hath been as an +Ishmaelite, rising up early and dividing the spoil with them that served the +Man—yea, they that wore beards and green Jerkins, as in remembrance of +the Man and of his government.” +</p> + +<p> +Joceline fixed his keen dark eyes upon the soldier as he spoke, as if in design +to discover whether there was fair play in his mind or not. He then applied his +five fingers to scratch a large shock head of hair, as if that operation was +necessary to enable him to come to a conclusion. “This is all fair +sounding, brother,” said he; “but I tell you plainly there are some +silver mugs, and platters, and flagons, and so forth, in yonder house, which +have survived the general sweep that sent all our plate to the smelting-pot, to +put our knight’s troop on horseback. Now, if thou takest not these off my +hand, I may come to trouble, since it may be thought I have minished their +numbers.—Whereas, I being as honest a fellow”— +</p> + +<p> +“As ever stole venison,” said Tomkins—“nay, I do owe +thee an interruption.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go to, then,” replied the keeper; “if a stag may have come +to mischance in my walk, it was no way in the course of dishonesty, but merely +to keep my old dame’s pan from rusting; but for silver porringers, +tankards, and such like, I would as soon have drunk the melted silver, as +stolen the vessel made out of it. So that I would not wish blame or suspicion +fell on me in this matter. And, therefore, if you will have the things rendered +even now,—why so—and if not, hold me blameless.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, truly,” said Tomkins; “and who is to hold me blameless, +if they should see cause to think any thing minished? Not the right worshipful +Commissioners, to whom the property of the estate is as their own; therefore, +as thou say’st, we must walk warily in the matter. To lock up the house +and leave it, were but the work of simple ones. What say’st thou to spend +the night there, and then nothing can be touched without the knowledge of us +both?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, concerning that,” answered the keeper, “I should be at +my hut to make matters somewhat conformable for the old knight and Mistress +Alice, for my old dame Joan is something dunny, and will scarce know how to +manage—and yet,—to speak the truth, by the mass I would rather not +see Sir Henry to-night, since what has happened to-day hath roused his spleen, +and it is a peradventure he may have met something at the hut which will scarce +tend to cool it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a pity,” said Tomkins, “that being a gentleman of such +grave and goodly presence, he should be such a malignant cavalier, and that he +should, like the rest of that generation of vipers, have clothed himself with +curses as with a garment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which is as much as to say, the tough old knight hath a habit of +swearing,” said the keeper, grinning at a pun, which has been repeated +since his time; “but who can help it? it comes of use and wont. Were you +now, in your bodily self, to light suddenly on a Maypole, with all the blithe +morris-dancers prancing around it to the merry pipe and tabor, with bells +jingling, ribands fluttering, lads frisking and laughing, lasses leaping till +you might see where the scarlet garter fastened the light blue hose, I think +some feeling, resembling either natural sociality, or old use and wont, would +get the better, friend, even of thy gravity, and thou wouldst fling thy +cuckoldy steeple-hat one way, and that blood-thirsty long sword another, and +trip, like the noodles of Hogs-Norton, when the pigs play on the organ.” +</p> + +<p> +The Independent turned fiercely round on the keeper, and replied, “How +now, Mr. Green Jerkin? what language is this to one whose hand is at the +plough? I advise thee to put curb on thy tongue, lest thy ribs pay the +forfeit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, do not take the high tone with me, brother” answered +Joceline; “remember thou hast not the old knight of sixty-five to deal +with, but a fellow as bitter and prompt as thyself—it may be a little +more so— younger, at all events—and prithee, why shouldst thou take +such umbrage at a Maypole? I would thou hadst known one Phil Hazeldine of these +parts—He was the best morris-dancer betwixt Oxford and Burford.” +</p> + +<p> +“The more shame to him,” answered the Independent; “and I +trust he has seen the error of his ways, and made himself (as, if a man of +action, he easily might) fit for better company than wood-hunters, +deer-stealers, Maid Marions, swash-bucklers, deboshed revellers, bloody +brawlers, maskers, and mummers, lewd men and light women, fools and fiddlers, +and carnal self-pleasers of every description.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied the keeper, “you are out of breath in time; +for here we stand before the famous Maypole of Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +They paused in an open space of meadow-land, beautifully skirted by large oaks +and sycamores, one of which, as king of the forest, stood a little detached +from the rest, as if scorning the vicinity of any rival. It was scathed and +gnarled in the branches, but the immense trunk still showed to what gigantic +size the monarch of the forest can attain in the groves of merry England. +</p> + +<p> +“That is called the King’s Oak,” said Joceline; “the +oldest men of Woodstock know not how old it is; they say Henry used to sit +under it with fair Rosamond, and see the lasses dance, and the lads of the +village run races, and wrestle for belts or bonnets.” +</p> + +<p> +“I nothing doubt it, friend,” said Tomkins; “a tyrant and a +harlot were fitting patron and patroness for such vanities.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou mayst say thy say, friend,” replied the keeper, “so +thou lettest me say mine. There stands the Maypole, as thou seest, half a +flight-shot from the King’s Oak, in the midst of the meadow. The King +gave ten shillings from the customs of Woodstock to make a new one yearly, +besides a tree fitted for the purpose out of the forest. Now it is warped, and +withered, and twisted, like a wasted brier-rod. The green, too, used to be +close-shaved, and rolled till it was smooth as a velvet mantle—now it is +rough and overgrown.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, friend Joceline,” said the Independent, “but +where was the edification of all this?—what use of doctrine could be +derived from a pipe and tabor? or was there ever aught like wisdom in a +bagpipe?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may ask better scholars that,” said Joceline; “but +methinks men cannot be always grave, and with the hat over their brow. A young +maiden will laugh as a tender flower will blow—ay, and a lad will like +her the better for it; just as the same blithe Spring that makes the young +birds whistle, bids the blithe fawns skip. There have come worse days since the +jolly old times have gone by:—I tell thee, that in the holydays which +you, Mr. Longsword, have put down, I have seen this greensward alive with merry +maidens and manly fellows. The good old rector himself thought it was no sin to +come for a while and look on, and his goodly cassock and scarf kept us all in +good order, and taught us to limit our mirth within the bounds of discretion. +We might, it may be, crack a broad jest, or pledge a friendly cup a turn too +often, but it was in mirth and good neighbour-hood—Ay, and if there was a +bout at single-stick, or a bellyful of boxing, it was all for love and +kindness; and better a few dry blows in drink, than the bloody doings we have +had in sober earnest, since the presbyter’s cap got above the +bishop’s mitre, and we exchanged our goodly rectors and learned doctors, +whose sermons were all bolstered up with as much Greek and Latin as might have +confounded the devil himself, for weavers and cobblers, and such other pulpit +volunteers, as—as we heard this morning—It will out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, friend,” said the Independent, with patience scarcely to +have been expected, “I quarrel not with thee for nauseating my doctrine. +If thine ear is so much tickled with tabor tunes and morris tripping, truly it +is not likely thou shouldst find pleasant savour in more wholesome and sober +food. But let us to the Lodge, that we may go about our business there before +the sun sets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Troth, and that may be advisable for more reasons than one,” said +the keeper; “for there have been tales about the Lodge which have made +men afeard to harbour there after nightfall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were not yon old knight, and yonder damsel his daughter, wont to dwell +there?” said the Independent. “My information said so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, truly did they,” said Joceline; “and while they kept a +jolly house-hold, all went well enough; for nothing banishes fear like good +ale. But after the best of our men went to the wars, and were slain at Naseby +fight, they who were left found the Lodge more lonesome, and the old knight has +been much deserted of his servants:—marry, it might be, that he has +lacked silver of late to pay groom and lackey.” +</p> + +<p> +“A potential reason for the diminution of a household,” said the +soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“Right, sir, even so,” replied the keeper. “They spoke of +steps in the great gallery, heard by dead of the night, and voices that +whispered at noon, in the matted chambers; and the servants pretended that +these things scared them away; but, in my poor judgment, when Martinmas and +Whitsuntide came round without a penny-fee, the old blue-bottles of serving-men +began to think of creeping elsewhere before the frost chilled them.—No +devil so frightful as that which dances in the pocket where there is no cross +to keep him out.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were reduced, then, to a petty household?” said the +Independent. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, marry, were we,” said Joceline; “but we kept some +half-score together, what with blue-bottles in the Lodge, what with green +caterpillars of the chase, like him who is yours to command; we stuck together +till we found a call to take a morning’s ride somewhere or other.” +</p> + +<p> +“To the town of Worcester,” said the soldier, “where you were +crushed like vermin and palmer worms, as you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may say your pleasure,” replied the keeper; “I’ll +never contradict a man who has got my head under his belt. Our backs are at the +wall, or you would not be here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, friend,” said the Independent, “thou riskest nothing by +thy freedom and trust in me. I can be <i>bon camarado</i> to a good soldier, +although I have striven with him even to the going down of the sun.—But +here we are in front of the Lodge.” +</p> + +<p> +They stood accordingly in front of the old Gothic building, irregularly +constructed, and at different times, as the humour of the English monarchs led +them to taste the pleasures of Woodstock Chase, and to make such improvements +for their own accommodation as the increasing luxury of each age required. The +oldest part of the structure had been named by tradition Fair Rosamond’s +Tower; it was a small turret of great height, with narrow windows, and walls of +massive thickness. The Tower had no opening to the ground, or means of +descending, a great part of the lower portion being solid mason-work. It was +traditionally said to have been accessible only by a sort of small drawbridge, +which might be dropped at pleasure from a little portal near the summit of the +turret, to the battlements of another tower of the same construction, but +twenty feet lower, and containing only a winding staircase, called in Woodstock +Love’s Ladder; because it is said, that by ascending this staircase to +the top of the tower, and then making use of the drawbridge, Henry obtained +access to the chamber of his paramour. +</p> + +<p> +This tradition had been keenly impugned by Dr. Rochecliffe, the former rector +of Woodstock, who insisted, that what was called Rosamond’s Tower, was +merely an interior keep, or citadel, to which the lord or warden of the castle +might retreat, when other points of safety failed him; and either protract his +defence, or, at the worst, stipulate for reasonable terms of surrender. The +people of Woodstock, jealous of their ancient traditions, did not relish this +new mode of explaining them away; and it is even said, that the Mayor, whom we +have already introduced, became Presbyterian, in revenge of the doubts cast by +the rector upon this important subject, rather choosing to give up the Liturgy +than his fixed belief in Rosamond’s Tower, and Love’s Ladder. +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the Lodge was of considerable extent, and of different ages; +comprehending a nest of little courts, surrounded by buildings which +corresponded with each other, sometimes within-doors, sometimes by crossing the +courts, and frequently in both ways. The different heights of the buildings +announced that they could only be connected by the usual variety of staircases, +which exercised the limbs of our ancestors in the sixteenth and earlier +centuries, and seem sometimes to have been contrived for no other purpose. +</p> + +<p> +The varied and multiplied fronts of this irregular building were, as Dr. +Rochecliffe was wont to say, an absolute banquet to the architectural +antiquary, as they certainly contained specimens of every style which existed, +from the pure Norman of Henry of Anjou, down to the composite, half Gothic half +classical architecture of Elizabeth and her successor. Accordingly, the rector +was himself as much enamoured of Woodstock as ever was Henry of Fair Rosamond; +and as his intimacy with Sir Henry Lee permitted him entrance at all times to +the Royal Lodge, he used to spend whole days in wandering about the antique +apartments, examining, measuring, studying, and finding out excellent reasons +for architectural peculiarities, which probably only owed their existence to +the freakish fancy of a Gothic artist. But the old antiquary had been expelled +from his living by the intolerance and troubles of the times, and his +successor, Nehemiah Holdenough, would have considered an elaborate +investigation of the profane sculpture and architecture of blinded and +blood-thirsty Papists, together with the history of the dissolute amours of old +Norman monarchs, as little better than a bowing down before the calves of +Bethel, and a drinking of the cup of abominations.—We return to the +course of our story. +</p> + +<p> +“There is,” said the Independent Tomkins, after he had carefully +perused the front of the building, “many a rare monument of olden +wickedness about this miscalled Royal Lodge; verily, I shall rejoice much to +see the same destroyed, yea, burned to ashes, and the ashes thrown into the +brook Kedron, or any other brook, that the land may be cleansed from the memory +thereof, neither remember the iniquity with which their fathers have +sinned.” +</p> + +<p> +The keeper heard him with secret indignation, and began to consider with +himself, whether, as they stood but one to one, and without chance of speedy +interference, he was not called upon, by his official duty, to castigate the +rebel who used language so defamatory. But he fortunately recollected, that the +strife must be a doubtful one—that the advantage of arms was against +him—and that, in especial, even if he should succeed in the combat, it +would be at the risk of severe retaliation. It must be owned, too, that there +was something about the Independent so dark and mysterious, so grim and grave, +that the more open spirit of the keeper felt oppressed, and, if not overawed, +at least kept in doubt concerning him; and he thought it wisest, as well as +safest, for his master and himself, to avoid all subjects of dispute, and know +better with whom he was dealing, before he made either friend or enemy of him. +</p> + +<p> +The great gate of the Lodge was strongly bolted, but the wicket opened on +Joceline’s raising the latch. There was a short passage of ten feet, +which had been formerly closed by a portcullis at the inner end, while three +loopholes opened on either side, through which any daring intruder might be +annoyed, who, having surprised the first gate, must be thus exposed to a severe +fire before he could force the second. But the machinery of the portcullis was +damaged, and it now remained a fixture, brandishing its jaw, well furnished +with iron fangs, but incapable of dropping it across the path of invasion. +</p> + +<p> +The way, therefore, lay open to the great hall or outer vestibule of the Lodge. +One end of this long and dusky apartment was entirely occupied by a gallery, +which had in ancient times served to accommodate the musicians and minstrels. +There was a clumsy staircase at either side of it, composed of entire logs of a +foot square; and in each angle of the ascent was placed, by way of sentinel, +the figure of a Norman foot-soldier, having an open casque on his head, which +displayed features as stern as the painter’s genius could devise. Their +arms were buff-jackets, or shirts of mail, round bucklers, with spikes in the +centre, and buskins which adorned and defended the feet and ankles, but left +the knees bare. These wooden warders held great swords, or maces, in their +hands, like military guards on duty. Many an empty hook and brace, along the +walls of the gloomy apartment, marked the spots from which arms, long preserved +as trophies, had been, in the pressure of the wars, once more taken down, to do +service in the field, like veterans whom extremity of danger recalls to battle. +On other rusty fastenings were still displayed the hunting trophies of the +monarchs to whom the Lodge belonged, and of the silvan knights to whose care it +had been from time to time confided. +</p> + +<p> +At the nether end of the hall, a huge, heavy, stone-wrought chimney-piece +projected itself ten feet from the wall, adorned with many a cipher, and many a +scutcheon of the Royal House of England. In its present state, it yawned like +the arched mouth of a funeral vault, or perhaps might be compared to the crater +of an extinguished volcano. But the sable complexion of the massive stone-work, +and all around it, showed that the time had been when it sent its huge fires +blazing up the huge chimney, besides puffing many a volume of smoke over the +heads of the jovial guests, whose royalty or nobility did not render them +sensitive enough to quarrel with such slight inconvenience. On these occasions, +it was the tradition of the house, that two cart-loads of wood was the regular +allowance for the fire between noon and curfew, and the andirons, or dogs, as +they were termed, constructed for retaining the blazing firewood on the hearth, +were wrought in the shape of lions of such gigantic size as might well warrant +the legend. There were long seats of stone within the chimney, where, in +despite of the tremendous heat, monarchs were sometimes said to have taken +their station, and amused themselves with broiling the <i>umbles</i>, or +<i>dowsels</i>, of the deer, upon the glowing embers, with their own royal +hands, when happy the courtier who was invited to taste the royal cookery. +Tradition was here also ready with her record, to show what merry gibes, such +as might be exchanged between prince and peer, had flown about at the jolly +banquet which followed the Michaelmas hunt. She could tell, too, exactly, where +King Stephen sat when he darned his own princely hose, and knew most of the odd +tricks he had put upon little Winkin, the tailor of Woodstock. +</p> + +<p> +Most of this rude revelry belonged to the Plantagenet times. When the house of +Tudor ascended to the throne, they were more chary of their royal presence, and +feasted in halls and chambers far within, abandoning the outmost hall to the +yeomen of the guard, who mounted their watch there, and passed away the night +with wassail and mirth, exchanged sometimes for frightful tales of apparitions +and sorceries, which made some of those grow pale, in whose ears the trumpet of +a French foeman would have sounded as jollily as a summons to the woodland +chase. +</p> + +<p> +Joceline pointed out the peculiarities of the place to his gloomy companion +more briefly than we have detailed them to the reader. The Independent seemed +to listen with some interest at first, but, flinging it suddenly aside, he said +in a solemn tone, “Perish, Babylon, as thy master Nebuchadnezzar hath +perished! He is a wanderer, and thou shalt be a waste place—yea, and a +wilderness—yea, a desert of salt, in which there shall be thirst and +famine.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is like to be enough of both to-night,” said Joceline, +“unless the good knight’s larder be somewhat fuller than it is +wont.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must care for the creature-comforts,” said the Independent, +“but in due season, when our duties are done. Whither lead these +entrances?” +</p> + +<p> +“That to the right,” replied the keeper, “leads to what are +called, the state-apartments, not used since the year sixteen hundred and +thirty-nine, when his blessed Majesty”— +</p> + +<p> +“How, sir!” interrupted the Independent, in a voice of thunder, +“dost thou speak of Charles Stewart as blessing, or blessed?—beware +the proclamation to that effect.” +</p> + +<p> +“I meant no harm,” answered the keeper, suppressing his disposition +to make a harsher reply. “My business is with bolts and bucks, not with +titles and state affairs. But yet, whatever may have happed since, that poor +King was followed with blessings enough from Woodstock, for he left a glove +full of broad pieces for the poor of the place”— +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, friend,” said the Independent; “I will think thee +else one of those besotted and blinded Papists, who hold, that bestowing of +alms is an atonement and washing away of the wrongs and oppressions which have +been wrought by the almsgiver. Thou sayest, then, these were the apartments of +Charles Stewart?” +</p> + +<p> +“And of his father, James, before him, and Elizabeth, before <i>him</i>, +and bluff King Henry, who builded that wing, before them all.” +</p> + +<p> +“And there, I suppose, the knight and his daughter dwelt?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Joceline; “Sir Henry Lee had too much reverence +for—for things which are now thought worth no reverence at +all—Besides, the state-rooms are unaired, and in indifferent order, since +of late years. The Knight Ranger’s apartment lies by that passage to the +left.” +</p> + +<p> +“And whither goes yonder stair, which seems both to lead upwards and +downwards?” +</p> + +<p> +“Upwards,” replied the keeper, “it leads to many apartments, +used for various purposes, of sleeping, and other accommodation. Downwards, to +the kitchen, offices, and vaults of the castle, which, at this time of the +evening, you cannot see without lights.” +</p> + +<p> +“We will to the apartments of your knight, then,” said the +Independent. “Is there fitting accommodation there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Such as has served a person of condition, whose lodging is now worse +appointed,” answered the honest keeper, his bile rising so fast that he +added, in a muttering and inaudible tone, “so it may well serve a +crop-eared knave like thee.” +</p> + +<p> +He acted as the usher, however, and led on towards the ranger’s +apartments. +</p> + +<p> +This suite opened by a short passage from the hall, secured at time of need by +two oaken doors, which could be fastened by large bars of the same, that were +drawn out of the wall, and entered into square holes, contrived for their +reception on the other side of the portal. At the end of this passage, a small +ante-room received them, into which opened the sitting apartment of the good +knight—which, in the style of the time, might have been termed a fair +summer parlour—lighted by two oriel windows, so placed as to command each +of them a separate avenue, leading distant and deep into the forest. The +principal ornament of the apartment, besides two or three family portraits of +less interest, was a tall full-length picture, that hung above the +chimney-piece, which, like that in the hall, was of heavy stone-work, +ornamented with carved scutcheons, emblazoned with various devices. The +portrait was that of a man about fifty years of age, in complete plate armour, +and painted in the harsh and dry manner of Holbein—probably, indeed, the +work of that artist, as the dates corresponded. The formal and marked angles, +points and projections of the armour, were a good subject for the harsh pencil +of that early school. The face of the knight was, from the fading of the +colours, pale and dim, like that of some being from the other world, yet the +lines expressed forcibly pride and exultation. +</p> + +<p> +He pointed with his leading-staff, or truncheon, to the background, where, in +such perspective as the artist possessed, were depicted the remains of a +burning church, or monastery, and four or five soldiers, in red cassocks, +bearing away in triumph what seemed a brazen font or laver. Above their heads +might be traced in scroll, “<i>Lee Victor sic voluit</i>.” Right +opposite to the picture, hung, in a niche in the wall, a complete set of +tilting armour, the black and gold colours, and ornaments of which exactly +corresponded with those exhibited in the portrait. +</p> + +<p> +The picture was one of those which, from something marked in the features and +expression, attract the observation even of those who are ignorant of art. The +Independent looked at it until a smile passed transiently over his clouded +brow. Whether he smiled to see the grim old cavalier employed in desecrating a +religious house—(an occupation much conforming to the practice of his own +sect)—whether he smiled in contempt of the old painter’s harsh and +dry mode of working—or whether the sight of this remarkable portrait +revived some other ideas, the under-keeper could not decide. +</p> + +<p> +The smile passed away in an instant, as the soldier looked to the oriel +windows. The recesses within them were raised a step or two from the wall. In +one was placed a walnut-tree reading-desk, and a huge stuffed arm-chair, +covered with Spanish leather. A little cabinet stood beside, with some of its +shuttles and drawers open, displaying hawks-bells, dog-whistles, instruments +for trimming falcons’ feathers, bridle-bits of various constructions, and +other trifles connected with silvan sport. +</p> + +<p> +The other little recess was differently furnished. There lay some articles of +needle-work on a small table, besides a lute, with a book having some airs +written down in it, and a frame for working embroidery. Some tapestry was +displayed around the recess, with more attention to ornament than was visible +in the rest of the apartment; the arrangement of a few bow-pots, with such +flowers as the fading season afforded, showed also the superintendence of +female taste. +</p> + +<p> +Tomkins cast an eye of careless regard upon these subjects of female +occupation, then stepped into the farther window, and began to turn the leaves +of a folio, which lay open on the reading-desk, apparently with some interest. +Joceline, who had determined to watch his motions without interfering with +them, was standing at some distance in dejected silence, when a door behind the +tapestry suddenly opened, and a pretty village maid tripped out with a napkin +in her hand, as if she had been about some household duty. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, Sir Impudence?” she said to Joceline in a smart tone; +“what do you here prowling about the apartments when the master is not at +home?” +</p> + +<p> +But instead of the answer which perhaps she expected, Joceline Joliffe cast a +mournful glance towards the soldier in the oriel window, as if to make what he +said fully intelligible, and replied with a dejected appearance and voice, +“Alack, my pretty Phœbe, there come those here that have more right or +might than any of us, and will use little ceremony in coming when they will, +and staying while they please.” +</p> + +<p> +He darted another glance at Tomkins, who still seemed busy with the book before +him, then sidled close to the astonished girl, who had continued looking +alternately at the keeper and at the stranger, as if she had been unable to +understand the words of the first, or to comprehend the meaning of the second +being present. +</p> + +<p> +“Go,” whispered Joliffe, approaching his mouth so near her cheek, +that his breath waved the curls of her hair; “go, my dearest Phœbe, trip +it as fast as a fawn down to my lodge—I will soon be there, +and”— +</p> + +<p> +“Your lodge, indeed” said Phœbe; “you are very bold, for a +poor kill-buck that never frightened any thing before save a dun +deer—<i>Your</i> lodge, indeed!—I am like to go there, I +think.” “Hush, hush! Phœbe— here is no time for jesting. +Down to my hut, I say, like a deer, for the knight and Mrs. Alice are both +there, and I fear will not return hither again.—All’s naught, +girl—and our evil days are come at last with a vengeance—we are +fairly at bay and fairly hunted down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can this be, Joceline?” said the poor girl, turning to the keeper +with an expression of fright in her countenance, which she had hitherto averted +in rural coquetry. +</p> + +<p> +“As sure, my dearest Phœbe, as”— +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the asseveration was lost in Phœbe’s ear, so closely did the +keeper’s lips approach it; and if they approached so very near as to +touch her cheek, grief, like impatience, hath its privileges, and poor Phœbe +had enough of serious alarm to prevent her from demurring upon such a trifle. +</p> + +<p> +But no trifle was the approach of Joceline’s lips to Phœbe’s +pretty though sunburnt cheek, in the estimation of the Independent, who, a +little before the object of Joceline’s vigilance, had been more lately in +his turn the observer of the keeper’s demeanour, so soon as the interview +betwixt Phœbe and him had become so interesting. And when he remarked the +closeness of Joceline’s argument, he raised his voice to a pitch of +harshness that would have rivalled that of an ungreased and rusty saw, and +which at once made Joceline and Phœbe spring six feet apart, each in contrary +directions, and if Cupid was of the party, must have sent him out at the window +like it wild duck flying from a culverin. Instantly throwing himself into the +attitude of a preacher and a reprover of vice, “How now!” he +exclaimed, “shameless and impudent as you +are!—What—chambering and wantoning in our very +presence!—How— would you play your pranks before the steward of the +Commissioners of the High Court of Parliament, as ye would in a booth at the +fulsome fair, or amidst the trappings and tracings of a profane dancing-school, +where the scoundrel minstrels make their ungodly weapons to squeak, ‘Kiss +and be kind, the fiddler’s blind?’—But here,” he said, +dealing a perilous thump upon the volume—“Here is the King and high +priest of those vices and follies!—Here is he, whom men of folly +profanely call nature’s miracle!—Here is he, whom princes chose for +their cabinet-keeper, and whom maids of honour take for their +bed-fellow!— Here is the prime teacher of fine words, foppery and +folly—Here!”— (dealing another thump upon the +volume—and oh! revered of the Roxburghe, it was the first +folio—beloved of the Bannatyne, it was Hemmings and Condel—it was +the <i>editio princeps</i>)—“On thee,” he +continued—“on thee, William Shakspeare, I charge whate’er of +such lawless idleness and immodest folly hath defiled the land since thy +day!” +</p> + +<p> +“By the mass, a heavy accusation,” said Joceline, the bold +recklessness of whose temper could not be long overawed; “Odds pitlikins, +is our master’s old favourite, Will of Stratford, to answer for every +buss that has been snatched since James’s time?—a perilous +reckoning truly—but I wonder who is sponsible for what lads and lasses +did before his day?” “Scoff not,” said the soldier, +“lest I, being called thereto by the voice within me, do deal with thee +as a scorner. Verily, I say, that since the devil fell from Heaven, he never +lacked agents on earth; yet nowhere hath he met with a wizard having such +infinite power over men’s souls as this pestilent fellow Shakspeare. +Seeks a wife a foul example for adultery, here she shall find it—Would a +man know how to train his fellow to be a murderer, here shall he find +tutoring—Would a lady marry a heathen negro, she shall have chronicled +example for it—Would any one scorn at his Maker, he shall be furnished +with a jest in this book— Would he defy his brother in the flesh, he +shall be accommodated with a challenge—Would you be drunk, Shakspeare +will cheer you with a cup— Would you plunge in sensual pleasures, he will +soothe you to indulgence, as with the lascivious sounds of a lute. This, I say, +this book is the well-head and source of all those evils which have overrun the +land like a torrent, making men scoffers, doubters, deniers, murderers, +makebates, and lovers of the wine-pot, haunting unclean places, and sitting +long at the evening-wine. Away with him, away with him, men of England! to +Tophet with his wicked book, and to the Vale of Hinnom with his accursed bones! +Verily but that our march was hasty when we passed Stratford, in the year 1643, +with Sir William Waller; but that our march was hasty”— +</p> + +<p> +“Because Prince Rupert was after you with his cavaliers,” muttered +the incorrigible Joceline. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” continued the zealous trooper, raising his voice and +extending his arm—“but that our march was by command hasty, and +that we turned not aside in our riding, closing our ranks each one upon the +other as becomes men of war, I had torn on that day the bones of that preceptor +of vice and debauchery from the grave, and given them to the next dunghill. I +would have made his memory a scoff and a hissing!” +</p> + +<p> +“That is the bitterest thing he has said yet,” observed the keeper. +“Poor Will would have liked the hissing worse than all the rest.” +“Will the gentleman say any more?” enquired Phœbe in a whisper. +“Lack-a-day, he talks brave words, if one knew but what they meant. But +it is a mercy our good knight did not see him ruffle the book at that +rate—Mercy on us, there would certainly have been bloodshed.—But +oh, the father—see how he is twisting his face about!—Is he ill of +the colic, think’st thou, Joceline? Or, may I offer him a glass of strong +waters?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark thee hither, wench!” said the keeper, “he is but +loading his blunderbuss for another volley; and while he turns up his eyes, and +twists about his face, and clenches his fist, and shuffles and tramples with +his feet in that fashion, he is bound to take no notice of any thing. I would +be sworn to cut his purse, if he had one, from his side, without his feeling +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“La! Joceline,” said Phœbe, “and if he abides here in this +turn of times, I dare say the gentleman will be easily served.” +</p> + +<p> +“Care not thou about that,” said Joliffe; “but tell me softly +and hastily, what is in the pantry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Small housekeeping enough,” said Phœbe; “a cold capon and +some comfits, and the great standing venison pasty, with plenty of +spice—a manchet or two besides, and that is all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it will serve for a pinch—wrap thy cloak round thy comely +body—get a basket and a brace of trenchers and towels, they are heinously +impoverished down yonder—carry down the capon and the manchets—the +pasty must abide with this same soldier and me, and the pie-crust will serve us +for bread.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rarely,” said Phœbe; “I made the paste myself—it is +as thick as the walls of Fair Rosamond’s Tower.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which two pairs of jaws would be long in gnawing through, work hard as +they might,” said the keeper. “But what liquor is there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only a bottle of Alicant, and one of sack, with the stone jug of strong +waters,” answered Phœbe. +</p> + +<p> +“Put the wine-flasks into thy basket,” said Joceline, “the +knight must not lack his evening draught—and down with thee to the hut +like a lapwing. There is enough for supper, and to-morrow is a new +day.—Ha! by heaven I thought yonder man’s eye watched +us—No—he only rolled it round him in a brown study—Deep +enough doubtless, as they all are.—But d—n him, he must be +bottomless if I cannot sound him before the night’s out.—Hie thee +away, Phœbe.” +</p> + +<p> +But Phœbe was a rural coquette, and, aware that Joceline’s situation +gave him no advantage of avenging the challenge in a fitting way, she whispered +in his ear, “Do you think our knight’s friend, Shakspeare, really +found out all these naughty devices the gentleman spoke of?” +</p> + +<p> +Off she darted while she spoke, while Joliffe menaced future vengeance with his +finger, as he muttered, “Go thy way, Phœbe Mayflower, the +lightest-footed and lightest-hearted wench that ever tripped the sod in +Woodstock-park!—After her, Bevis, and bring her safe to our master at the +hut.” +</p> + +<p> +The large greyhound arose like a human servitor who had received an order, and +followed Phœbe through the hall, first licking her hand to make her sensible +of his presence, and then putting himself to a slow trot, so as best to +accommodate himself to the light pace of her whom he convoyed, whom Joceline +had not extolled for her activity without due reason. While Phœbe and her +guardian thread the forest glades, we return to the Lodge. +</p> + +<p> +The Independent now seemed to start as if from a reverie. “Is the young +woman gone?” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, marry is she,” said the keeper; “and if your worship +hath farther commands, you must rest contented with male attendance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Commands—umph—I think the damsel might have tarried for +another exhortation,” said the soldier—“truly, I profess my +mind was much inclined toward her for her edification.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir,” replied Joliffe, “she will be at church next +Sunday, and if your military reverence is pleased again to hold forth amongst +us, she will have use of the doctrine with the rest. But young maidens of these +parts hear no private homilies.—And what is now your pleasure? Will you +look at the other rooms, and at the few plate articles which have been +left?” +</p> + +<p> +“Umph—no,” said the Independent—“it wears late, +and gets dark—thou hast the means of giving us beds, friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“Better you never slept in,” replied the keeper. +</p> + +<p> +“And wood for a fire, and a light, and some small pittance of +creature-comforts for refreshment of the outward man?” continued the +soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“Without doubt,” replied the keeper, displaying a prudent anxiety +to gratify this important personage. +</p> + +<p> +In a few minutes a great standing candlestick was placed on an oaken table. The +mighty venison pasty, adorned with parsley, was placed on the board on a clean +napkin; the stone-bottle of strong waters, with a blackjack full of ale, formed +comfortable appendages; and to this meal sate down in social manner the +soldier, occupying a great elbow-chair, and the keeper, at his invitation, +using the more lowly accommodation of a stool, at the opposite side of the +table. Thus agreeably employed, our history leaves them for the present. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER THE FOURTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Yon path of greensward<br/> +Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion;<br/> +There is no flint to gall thy tender foot,<br/> +There’s ready shelter from each breeze, or shower.—<br/> +But duty guides not that way—see her stand,<br/> +With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon cliffs.<br/> +Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy footsteps,<br/> +Oft where she leads thy head must bear the storm.<br/> +And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and hunger;<br/> +But she will guide thee up to noble heights,<br/> +Which he who gains seems native of the sky,<br/> +While earthly things lie stretch’d beneath his feet,<br/> +Diminish’d, shrunk, and valueless— +</p> + +<p class="left"> +A<small>NONYMOUS</small>. +</p> + +<p> +The reader cannot have forgotten that after his scuffle with the commonwealth +soldier, Sir Henry Lee, with his daughter Alice, had departed to take refuge in +the hut of the stout keeper Joceline Joliffe. They walked slow, as before, for +the old knight was at once oppressed by perceiving these last vestiges of +royalty fall into the hands of republicans, and by the recollection of his +recent defeat. At times he paused, and, with his arms folded on his bosom, +recalled all the circumstances attending his expulsion from a house so long his +home. It seemed to him that, like the champions of romance of whom he had +sometimes read, he himself was retiring from the post which it was his duty to +guard, defeated by a Paynim knight, for whom the adventure had been reserved by +fate. Alice had her own painful subjects of recollection, nor had the tenor of +her last conversation with her father been so pleasant as to make her anxious +to renew it until his temper should be more composed; for with an excellent +disposition, and much love to his daughter, age and misfortunes, which of late +came thicker and thicker, had given to the good knight’s passions a +wayward irritability unknown to his better days. His daughter, and one or two +attached servants, who still followed his decayed fortunes, soothed his frailty +as much as possible, and pitied him even while they suffered under its effects. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long time ere he spoke, and then he referred to an incident already +noticed. “It is strange,” he said, “that Bevis should have +followed Joceline and that fellow rather than me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Assure yourself, sir,” replied Alice, “that his sagacity saw +in this man a stranger, whom he thought himself obliged to watch circumspectly, +and therefore he remained with Joceline.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so, Alice,” answered Sir Henry; “he leaves me because my +fortunes have fled from me. There is a feeling in nature, affecting even the +instinct, as it is called, of dumb animals, which teaches them to fly from +misfortune. The very deer there will butt a sick or wounded buck from the herd; +hurt a dog, and the whole kennel will fall on him and worry him; fishes devour +their own kind when they are wounded with a spear; cut a crow’s wing, or +break its leg, the others will buffet it to death.” +</p> + +<p> +“That may be true of the more irrational kinds of animals among each +other,” said Alice, “for their whole life is well nigh a warfare; +but the dog leaves his own race to attach himself to ours; forsakes, for his +master, the company, food, and pleasure of his own kind; and surely the +fidelity of such a devoted and voluntary servant as Bevis hath been in +particular, ought not to be lightly suspected.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not angry with the dog, Alice; I am only sorry,” replied her +father. “I have read, in faithful chronicles, that when Richard II. and +Henry of Bolingbroke were at Berkeley Castle, a dog of the same kind deserted +the King, whom he had always attended upon, and attached himself to Henry, whom +he then saw for the first time. Richard foretold, from the desertion of his +favourite, his approaching deposition. The dog was afterwards kept at +Woodstock, and Bevis is said to be of his breed, which was heedfully kept up. +What I might foretell of mischief from his desertion, I cannot guess, but my +mind assures me it bodes no good.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a distant rustling among the withered leaves, a bouncing or galloping +sound on the path, and the favourite dog instantly joined his master. +</p> + +<p> +“Come into court, old knave,” said Alice, cheerfully, “and +defend thy character, which is wellnigh endangered by this absence.” But +the dog only paid her courtesy by gamboling around them, and instantly plunged +back again, as fast as he could scamper. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, knave?” said the knight; “thou art too well +trained, surely, to take up the chase without orders.” A minute more +showed them Phœbe Mayflower approaching, her light pace so little impeded by +the burden which she bore, that she joined her master and young mistress just +as they arrived at the keeper’s hut, which was the boundary of their +journey. Bevis, who had shot a-head to pay his compliments to Sir Henry his +master, had returned again to his immediate duty, the escorting Phœbe and her +cargo of provisions. The whole party stood presently assembled before the door +of the keeper’s hut. +</p> + +<p> +In better times, a substantial stone habitation, fit for the yeoman-keeper of a +royal walk, had adorned this place. A fair spring gushed out near the spot, and +once traversed yards and courts, attached to well-built and convenient kennels +and mews. But in some of the skirmishes which were common during the civil +wars, this little silvan dwelling had been attacked and defended, stormed and +burnt. A neighbouring squire, of the Parliament side of the question, took +advantage of Sir Henry Lee’s absence, who was then in Charles’s +camp, and of the decay of the royal cause, and had, without scruple, carried +off the hewn stones, and such building materials as the fire left unconsumed, +and repaired his own manor-house with them. The yeoman-keeper, therefore, our +friend Joceline, had constructed, for his own accommodation, and that of the +old woman he called his dame, a wattled hut, such as his own labour, with that +of a neighbour or two, had erected in the course of a few days. The walls were +plastered with clay, white-washed, and covered with vines and other creeping +plants; the roof was neatly thatched, and the whole, though merely a hut, had, +by the neat-handed Joliffe, been so arranged as not to disgrace the condition +of the dweller. +</p> + +<p> +The knight advanced to the entrance; but the ingenuity of the architect, for +want of a better lock to the door, which itself was but of wattles curiously +twisted, had contrived a mode of securing the latch on the inside with a pin, +which prevented it from rising; and in this manner it was at present fastened. +Conceiving that this was some precaution of Joliffe’s old housekeeper, of +whose deafness they were all aware, Sir Henry raised his voice to demand +admittance, but in vain. Irritated at this delay, he pressed the door at once +with foot and hand, in a way which the frail barrier was unable to resist; it +gave way accordingly, and the knight thus forcibly entered the kitchen, or +outward apartment, of his servant. In the midst of the floor, and with a +posture which indicated embarrassment, stood a youthful stranger, in a +riding-suit. +</p> + +<p> +“This may be my last act of authority here,” said the knight, +seizing the stranger by the collar, “but I am still Ranger of Woodstock +for this night at least—Who, or what art thou?” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger dropped the riding-mantle in which his face was muffled, and at +the same time fell on one knee. +</p> + +<p> +“Your poor kinsman, Markham Everard,” he said, “who came +hither for your sake, although he fears you will scarce make him welcome for +his own.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry started back, but recovered himself in an instant, as one who +recollected that he had a part of dignity to perform. He stood erect, +therefore, and replied, with considerable assumption of stately ceremony: +</p> + +<p> +“Fair kinsman, it pleases me that you are come to Woodstock upon the very +first night that, for many years which have passed, is likely to promise you a +worthy or a welcome reception.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now God grant it be so, that I rightly hear and duly understand +you,” said the young man; while Alice, though she was silent, kept her +looks fixed on her father’s face, as if desirous to know whether his +meaning was kind towards his nephew, which her knowledge of his character +inclined her greatly to doubt. +</p> + +<p> +The knight meanwhile darted a sardonic look, first on his nephew, then on his +daughter, and proceeded—“I need not, I presume, inform Mr. Markham +Everard, that it cannot be our purpose to entertain him, or even to offer him a +seat in this poor hut.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will attend you most willingly to the Lodge,” said the young +gentleman. “I had, indeed, judged you were already there for the evening, +and feared to intrude upon you. But if you would permit me, my dearest uncle, +to escort my kinswoman and you back to the Lodge, believe me, amongst all which +you have so often done of good and kind, you never conferred benefit that will +be so dearly prized.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mistake me greatly, Mr. Markham Everard,” replied the knight. +“It is not our purpose to return to the Lodge to-night, nor, by Our Lady, +to-morrow neither. I meant but to intimate to you in all courtesy, that at +Woodstock Lodge you will find those for whom you are fitting society, and who, +doubtless, will afford you a willing welcome; which I, sir, in this my present +retreat, do not presume to offer to a person of your consequence.” +</p> + +<p> +“For Heaven’s sake,” said the young man, turning to Alice, +“tell me how I am to understand language so misterious.” +</p> + +<p> +Alice, to prevent his increasing the restrained anger of her father, compelled +herself to answer, though it was with difficulty, “We are expelled from +the Lodge by soldiers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Expelled—by soldiers!” exclaimed Everard, in +surprise—“there is no legal warrant for this.” +</p> + +<p> +“None at all,” answered the knight, in the same tone of cutting +irony which he had all along used, “and yet as lawful a warrant, as for +aught that has been wrought in England this twelvemonth and more. You are, I +think, or were, an Inns-of-Court-man—marry, sir, your enjoyment of your +profession is like that lease which a prodigal wishes to have of a wealthy +widow. You have already survived the law which you studied, and its expiry +doubtless has not been without a legacy—some decent pickings, some +merciful increases, as the phrase goes. You have deserved it two ways—you +wore buff and bandalier, as well as wielded pen and ink—I have not heard +if you held forth too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think of me and speak of me as harshly as you will, sir,” said +Everard, submissively. “I have but in this evil time, guided myself by my +conscience, and my father’s commands.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, and you talk of conscience,” said the old knight, “I must +have mine eye upon you, as Hamlet says. Never yet did Puritan cheat so grossly +as when he was appealing to his conscience; and as for thy +<i>father</i>”— +</p> + +<p> +He was about to proceed in a tone of the same invective, when the young man +interrupted him, by saying, in a firm tone, “Sir Henry Lee, you have ever +been thought noble—Say of me what you will, but speak not of my father +what the ear of a son should not endure, and which yet his arm cannot resent. +To do me such wrong is to insult an unarmed man, or to beat a captive.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry paused, as if struck by the remark. “Thou hast spoken truth in +that, Mark, wert thou the blackest Puritan whom hell ever vomited, to distract +an unhappy country.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be that as you will to think it,” replied Everard; “but let +me not leave you to the shelter of this wretched hovel. The night is drawing to +storm—let me but conduct you to the Lodge, and expel those intruders, who +can, as yet at least, have no warrant for what they do. I will not linger a +moment behind them, save just to deliver my father’s message.—Grant +me but this much, for the love you once bore me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mark,” answered his uncle, firmly, but sorrowfully, +“thou speakest truth—I did love thee once. The bright-haired boy +whom I taught to ride, to shoot, to hunt—whose hours of happiness were +spent with me, wherever those of graver labours were employed—I did love +that boy—ay, and I am weak enough to love even the memory of what he +was.—But he is gone, Mark—he is gone; and in his room I only behold +an avowed and determined rebel to his religion and to his king—a rebel +more detestable on account of his success, the more infamous through the +plundered wealth with which he hopes to gild his villany.—But I am poor, +thou think’st, and should hold my peace, lest men say, ‘Speak, +sirrah, when you should.’—Know, however, that, indigent and +plundered as I am, I feel myself dishonoured in holding even but this much talk +with the tool of usurping rebels.—Go to the Lodge, if thou +wilt—yonder lies the way—but think not that, to regain my dwelling +there, or all the wealth I ever possessed in my wealthiest days, I would +accompany thee three steps on the greensward. If I must be thy companion, it +shall be only when thy red-coats have tied my hands behind me, and bound my +legs beneath my horse’s belly. Thou mayst be my fellow traveller then, I +grant thee, if thou wilt, but not sooner.” +</p> + +<p> +Alice, who suffered cruelly during this dialogue, and was well aware that +farther argument would only kindle the knight’s resentment still more +highly, ventured at last, in her anxiety, to make a sign to her cousin to break +off the interview, and to retire, since her father commanded his absence in a +manner so peremptory. Unhappily, she was observed by Sir Henry, who, concluding +that what he saw was evidence of a private understanding betwixt the cousins, +his wrath acquired new fuel, and it required the utmost exertion of +self-command, and recollection of all that was due to his own dignity, to +enable him to veil his real fury under the same ironical manner which he had +adopted at the beginning of this angry interview. +</p> + +<p> +“If thou art afraid,” he said, “to trace our forest glades by +night, respected stranger, to whom I am perhaps bound to do honour as my +successor in the charge of these walks, here seems to be a modest damsel, who +will be most willing to wait on thee, and be thy bow-bearer.—Only, for +her mother’s sake, let there pass some slight form of marriage between +you—Ye need no license or priest in these happy days, but may be buckled +like beggars in a ditch, with a hedge for a church-roof, and a tinker for a +priest. I crave pardon of you for making such an officious and simple +request—perhaps you are a ranter—or one of the family of Love, or +hold marriage rites as unnecessary, as Knipperdoling, or Jack of Leyden?” +</p> + +<p> +“For mercy’s sake, forbear such dreadful jesting, my father! and do +you, Markham, begone, in God’s name, and leave us to our fate—your +presence makes my father rave.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jesting!” said Sir Henry, “I was never more +serious—Raving!—I was never more composed—I could never brook +that falsehood should approach me—I would no more bear by my side a +dishonoured daughter than a dishonoured sword; and this unhappy day hath shown +that both can fail.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Henry,” said young Everard, “load not your soul with a +heavy crime, which be assured you do, in treating your daughter thus unjustly. +It is long now since you denied her to me, when we were poor and you were +powerful. I acquiesced in your prohibition of all suit and intercourse. God +knoweth what I suffered—but I acquiesced. Neither is it to renew my suit +that I now come hither, and have, I do acknowledge, sought speech of +her—not for her own sake only, but for yours also. Destruction hovers +over you, ready to close her pinions to stoop, and her talons to +clutch—Yes, sir, look contemptuous as you will, such is the case; and it +is to protect both you and her that I am here.” +</p> + +<p> +“You refuse then my free gift,” said Sir Henry Lee; “or +perhaps you think it loaded with too hard conditions?” +</p> + +<p> +“Shame, shame on you, Sir Henry;” said Everard, waxing warm in his +turn; “have your political prejudices so utterly warped every feeling of +a father, that you can speak with bitter mockery and scorn of what concerns +your own daughter’s honour?—Hold up your head, fair Alice, and tell +your father he has forgotten nature in his fantastic spirit of +loyalty.—Know, Sir Henry, that though I would prefer your +daughter’s hand to every blessing which Heaven could bestow on me, I +would not accept it—my conscience would not permit me to do so, when I +knew it must withdraw her from her duty to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your conscience is over-scrupulous, young man;—carry it to some +dissenting rabbi, and he who takes all that comes to net, will teach thee it is +sinning against our mercies to refuse any good thing that is freely offered to +us.” +</p> + +<p> +“When it is freely offered, and kindly offered—not when the offer +is made in irony and insult—Fare thee well, Alice—if aught could +make me desire to profit by thy father’s wild wish to cast thee from him +in a moment of unworthy suspicion, it would be that while indulging in such +sentiments, Sir Henry Lee is tyrannically oppressing the creature, who of all +others is most dependent on his kindness—who of all others will most feel +his severity, and whom, of all others, he is most bound to cherish and +support.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not fear for me, Mr. Everard,” exclaimed Alice, aroused from +her timidity by a dread of the consequences not unlikely to ensue, where civil +war sets relations, as well as fellow-citizens, in opposition to each +other.—“Oh, begone, I conjure you, begone! Nothing stands betwixt +me and my father’s kindness, but these unhappy family divisions—but +your ill-timed presence here—for Heaven’s sake, leave us!” +</p> + +<p> +“So, mistress!” answered the hot old cavalier, “you play lady +paramount already; and who but you!—you would dictate to our train, I +warrant, like Goneril and Regan! But I tell thee, no man shall leave my +house—and, humble as it is, <i>this</i> is now my house—while he +has aught to say to me that is to be spoken, as this young man now speaks, with +a bent brow and a lofty tone.—Speak out, sir, and say your worst!” +</p> + +<p> +“Fear not my temper, Mrs. Alice,” said Everard, with equal firmness +and placidity of manner; “and you, Sir Henry, do not think that if I +speak firmly, I mean therefore to speak in anger, or officiously. You have +taxed me with much, and, were I guided by the wild spirit of romantic chivalry, +much which, even from so near a relative, I ought not, as being by birth, and +in the world’s estimation, a gentleman, to pass over without reply. Is it +your pleasure to give me patient hearing?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you stand on your defence,” answered the stout old knight, +“God forbid that you should not challenge a patient hearing—ay, +though your pleading were two parts disloyalty and one blasphemy—Only, be +brief— this has already lasted but too long.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, Sir Henry,” replied the young man; “yet it is hard +to crowd into a few sentences, the defence of a life which, though short, has +been a busy one—too busy, your indignant gesture would assert. But I deny +it; I have drawn my sword neither hastily, nor without due consideration, for a +people whose rights have been trampled on, and whose consciences have been +oppressed—Frown not, sir—such is not your view of the contest, but +such is mine. For my religious principles, at which you have scoffed, believe +me, that though they depend not on set forms, they are no less sincere than +your own, and thus far purer—excuse the word—that they are +unmingled with the blood-thirsty dictates of a barbarous age, which you and +others have called the code of chivalrous honour. Not my own natural +disposition, but the better doctrine which my creed has taught, enables me to +bear your harsh revilings without answering in a similar tone of wrath and +reproach. You may carry insult to extremity against me at your +pleasure—not on account of our relationship alone, but because I am bound +in charity to endure it. This, Sir Henry, is much from one of our house. But, +with forbearance far more than this requires, I can refuse at your hands the +gift, which, most of all things under heaven, I should desire to obtain, +because duty calls upon her to sustain and comfort you, and because it were sin +to permit you, in your blindness, to spurn your comforter from your +side.—Farewell, sir—not in anger, but in pity—We may meet in +a better time, when your heart and your principles shall master the unhappy +prejudices by which they are now overclouded.—Farewell— farewell, +Alice!” +</p> + +<p> +The last words were repeated twice, and in a tone of feeling and passionate +grief, which differed utterly from the steady and almost severe tone in which +he had addressed Sir Henry Lee. He turned and left the hut so soon as he had +uttered these last words; and, as if ashamed of the tenderness which had +mingled with his accents, the young commonwealth’s-man turned and walked +sternly and resolvedly forth into the moonlight, which now was spreading its +broad light and autumnal shadows over the woodland. +</p> + +<p> +So soon as he departed, Alice, who had been during the whole scene in the +utmost terror that her father might have been hurried, by his natural heat of +temper, from violence of language into violence of action, sunk down upon a +settle twisted out of willow boughs, like most of Joceline’s few +moveables, and endeavoured to conceal the tears which accompanied the thanks +she rendered in broken accents to Heaven, that, notwithstanding the near +alliance and relationship of the parties, some fatal deed had not closed an +interview so perilous and so angry. Phœbe Mayflower blubbered heartily for +company, though she understood but little of what had passed; just, indeed, +enough to enable her afterwards to report to some half-dozen particular +friends, that her old master, Sir Henry, had been perilous angry, and almost +fought with young Master Everard, because he had wellnigh carried away her +young mistress.—“And what could he have done better?” said +Phœbe, “seeing the old man had nothing left either for Mrs. Alice or +himself; and as for Mr. Mark Everard and our young lady, oh! they had spoken +such loving things to each other as are not to be found in the history of +Argalus and Parthenia, who, as the story-book tells, were the truest pair of +lovers in all Arcadia, and Oxfordshire to boot.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Goody Jellycot had popped her scarlet hood into the kitchen more than once +while the scene was proceeding; but, as the worthy dame was parcel blind and +more than parcel deaf, knowledge was excluded by two principal entrances; and +though she comprehended, by a sort of general instinct, that the gentlefolk +were at high words, yet why they chose Joceline’s hut for the scene of +their dispute was as great a mystery as the subject of the quarrel. +</p> + +<p> +But what was the state of the old cavalier’s mood, thus contradicted, as +his most darling principles had been, by the last words of his departing +nephew? The truth is, that he was less thoroughly moved than his daughter +expected; and in all probability his nephew’s bold defence of his +religious and political opinions rather pacified than aggravated his +displeasure. Although sufficiently impatient of contradiction, still evasion +and subterfuge were more alien to the blunt old Ranger’s nature than +manly vindication and direct opposition; and he was wont to say, that he ever +loved the buck best who stood boldest at bay. He graced his nephew’s +departure, however, with a quotation from Shakspeare, whom, as many others do, +he was wont to quote from a sort of habit and respect, as a favourite of his +unfortunate master, without having either much real taste for his works, or +great skill in applying the passages which he retained on his memory. +</p> + +<p> +“Mark,” he said, “mark this, Alice—the devil can quote +Scripture for his purpose. Why, this young fanatic cousin of thine, with no +more beard than I have seen on a clown playing Maid Marion on May-day, when the +village barber had shaved him in too great a hurry, shall match any bearded +Presbyterian or Independent of them all, in laying down his doctrines and his +uses, and bethumping us with his texts and his homilies. I would worthy and +learned Doctor Rochecliffe had been here, with his battery ready-mounted from +the Vulgate, and the Septuagint, and what not—he would have battered the +presbyterian spirit out of him with a wanion. However, I am glad the young man +is no sneaker; for, were a man of the devil’s opinion in religion, and of +Old Noll’s in politics, he were better open on it full cry, than deceive +you by hunting counter, or running a false scent. Come—wipe thine +eyes—the fray is over, and not like to be stirred again soon, I +trust.” +</p> + +<p> +Encouraged by these words, Alice rose, and, bewildered as she was, endeavoured +to superintend the arrangements for their meal and their repose in their new +habitation. But her tears fell so fast, they marred her counterfeited +diligence; and it was well for her that Phœbe, though too ignorant and too +simple to comprehend the extent of her distress, could afford her material +assistance, in lack of mere sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +With great readiness and address, the damsel set about every thing that was +requisite for preparing the supper and the beds; now screaming into Dame +Jellycot’s ear, now whispering into her mistress’s, and artfully +managing, as if she was merely the agent, under Alice’s orders. When the +cold viands were set forth, Sir Henry Lee kindly pressed his daughter to take +refreshment, as if to make up, indirectly, for his previous harshness towards +her; while he himself, like an experienced campaigner, showed, that neither the +mortifications nor brawls of the day, nor the thoughts of what was to come +to-morrow, could diminish his appetite for supper, which was his favourite +meal. He ate up two-thirds of the capon, and, devoting the first bumper to the +happy restoration of Charles, second of the name, he finished a quart of wine; +for he belonged to a school accustomed to feed the flame of their loyalty with +copious brimmers. He even sang a verse of “The King shall enjoy his own +again,” in which Phœbe, half-sobbing, and Dame Jellycot, screaming +against time and tune, were contented to lend their aid, to cover Mistress +Alice’s silence. +</p> + +<p> +At length the jovial knight betook himself to his rest on the keeper’s +straw pallet, in a recess adjoining to the kitchen, and, unaffected by his +change of dwelling, slept fast and deep. Alice had less quiet rest in old Goody +Jellycot’s wicker couch, in the inner apartment; while the dame and +Phœbe slept on a mattress, stuffed with dry leaves, in the same chamber, +soundly as those whose daily toil gains their daily bread, and, whom morning +calls up only to renew the toils of yesterday. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER THE FIFTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +My tongue pads slowly under this new language,<br/> +And starts and stumbles at these uncouth phrases.<br/> +They may be great in worth and weight, but hang<br/> +Upon the native glibness of my language<br/> +Like Saul’s plate-armour on the shepherd boy,<br/> +Encumbering and not arming him. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +J. B. +</p> + +<p> +As Markham Everard pursued his way towards the Lodge, through one of the long +sweeping glades which traversed the forest, varying in breadth, till the trees +were now so close that the boughs made darkness over his head, then receding +farther to let in glimpses of the moon, and anon opening yet wider into little +meadows, or savannahs, on which the moonbeams lay in silvery silence; as he +thus proceeded on his lonely course, the various effects produced by that +delicious light on the oaks, whose dark leaves, gnarled branches, and massive +trunks it gilded, more or less partially, might have drawn the attention of a +poet or a painter. +</p> + +<p> +But if Everard thought of anything saving the painful scene in which he had +just played his part, and of which the result seemed the destruction of all his +hopes, it was of the necessary guard to be observed in his night-walk. The +times were dangerous and unsettled; the roads full of disbanded soldiers, and +especially of royalists, who made their political opinions a pretext for +disturbing the country with marauding parties and robberies. Deer-stealers +also, who are ever a desperate banditti, had of late infested Woodstock Chase. +In short, the dangers of the place and period were such, that Markham Everard +wore his loaded pistols at his belt, and carried his drawn sword under his arm, +that he might be prepared for whatever peril should cross his path. +</p> + +<p> +He heard the bells of Woodstock Church ring curfew, just as he was crossing one +of the little meadows we have described, and they ceased as he entered an +overshadowed and twilight part of the path beyond. It was there that he heard +some one whistling; and, as the sound became clearer, it was plain the person +was advancing towards him. This could hardly be a friend; for the party to +which he belonged rejected, generally speaking, all music, unless psalmody. +“If a man is merry, let him sing psalms,” was a text which they +were pleased to interpret as literally and to as little purpose as they did +some others; yet it was too continued a sound to be a signal amongst +night-walkers, and too light and cheerful to argue any purpose of concealment +on the part of the traveller, who presently exchanged his whistling for +singing, and trolled forth the following stanza to a jolly tune, with which the +old cavaliers were wont to wake the night owl: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Hey for cavaliers! Ho for cavaliers!<br/> +Pray for cavaliers!<br/> + Rub a dub—rub a dub!<br/> + Have at old Beelzebub—<br/> + Oliver smokes for fear. +</p> + +<p> +“I should know that voice,” said Everard, uncocking the pistol +which he had drawn from his belt, but continuing to hold it in his hand. Then +came another fragment: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Hash them—slash them—<br/> +All to pieces dash them. +</p> + +<p> +“So ho!” cried Markham, “who goes there, and for whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“For Church and King,” answered a voice, which presently added, +“No, d—n me—I mean <i>against</i> Church and King, and for +the people that are uppermost—I forget which they are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Roger Wildrake, as I guess?” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“The same—Gentleman; of Squattlesea-mere, in the moist county of +Lincoln.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wildrake!” said Markham—“Wildgoose you should be +called. You have been moistening your own throat to some purpose, and using it +to gabble tunes very suitable to the times, to be sure!” +</p> + +<p> +“Faith, the tune’s a pretty tune enough, Mark, only out of fashion +a little—the more’s the pity.” +</p> + +<p> +“What could I expect,” said Everard, “but to meet some +ranting, drunken cavalier, as desperate and dangerous as night and sack usually +make them? What if I had rewarded your melody by a ball in the gullet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, there would have been a piper paid—that’s all,” +said Wildrake. “But wherefore come you this way now? I was about to seek +you at the hut.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been obliged to leave it—I will tell you the cause +hereafter,” replied Markham. +</p> + +<p> +“What! the old play-hunting cavalier was cross, or Chloe was +unkind?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jest not, Wildrake—it is all over with me,” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“The devil it is,” exclaimed Wildrake, “and you take it thus +quietly!— Zounds! let us back together—I’ll plead your cause +for you—I know how to tickle up an old knight and a pretty +maiden—Let me alone for putting you <i>rectus in curia</i>, you canting +rogue.—D—n me, Sir Henry Lee, says I, your nephew is a piece of a +Puritan—it won’t deny—but I’ll uphold him a gentleman +and a pretty fellow, for all that.—Madam, says I, you may think your +cousin looks like a psalm-singing weaver, in that bare felt, and with that +rascally brown cloak; that band, which looks like a baby’s clout, and +those loose boots, which have a whole calf-skin in each of them,—but let +him wear on the one side of his head a castor, with a plume befitting his +quality; give him a good Toledo by his side, with a broidered belt and an +inlaid hilt, instead of the ton of iron contained in that basket-hilted black +Andrew Ferrara; put a few smart words in his mouth—and, blood and wounds! +madam, says I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Prithee, truce with this nonsense, Wildrake,” said Everard, +“and tell me if you are sober enough to hear a few words of sober +reason?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw! man, I did but crack a brace of quarts with yonder puritanic, +roundheaded soldiers, up yonder at the town; and rat me but I passed myself for +the best man of the party; twanged my nose, and turned up my eyes, as I took my +can—Pah! the very wine tasted of hypocrisy. I think the rogue corporal +smoked something at last—as for the common fellows, never stir, but +<i>they</i> asked me to say grace over another quart.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is just what I wished to speak with you about, Wildrake,” +said Markham—“You hold me, I am sure, for your friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“True as steel.—Chums at College and at Lincoln’s +Inn—we have been Nisus and Euryalus, Theseus and Pirithous, Orestes and +Pylades; and, to sum up the whole with a puritanic touch, David and Jonathan, +all in one breath. Not even politics, the wedge that rends families and +friendships asunder, as iron rives oak, have been able to split us.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” answered Markham: “and when you followed the King to +Nottingham, and I enrolled under Essex, we swore, at our parting, that +whichever side was victorious, he of us who adhered to it, should protect his +less fortunate comrade.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, man, surely; and have you not protected me accordingly? Did you +not save me from hanging? and am I not indebted to you for the bread I +eat?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have but done that which, had the times been otherwise, you, my dear +Wildrake, would, I am sure, have done for me. But, as I said, that is just what +I wished to speak to you about. Why render the task of protecting you more +difficult than it must necessarily be at any rate? Why thrust thyself into the +company of soldiers, or such like, where thou art sure to be warmed into +betraying thyself? Why come hollowing and whooping out cavalier ditties, like a +drunken trooper of Prince Rupert, or one of Wilmot’s swaggering +body-guards?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I may have been both one and t’other in my day, for aught +that you know,” replied Wildrake. “But, oddsfish! is it necessary I +should always be reminding you, that our obligation of mutual protection, our +league of offensive and defensive, as I may call it, was to be carried into +effect without reference to the politics or religion of the party protected, or +the least obligation on him to conform to those of his friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said Everard; “but with this most necessary +qualification, that the party should submit to such outward conformity to the +times as should make it more easy and safe for his friend to be of service to +him. Now, you are perpetually breaking forth, to the hazard of your own safety +and my credit.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you, Mark, and I would tell your namesake the apostle, that you +are hard on me. You have practised sobriety and hypocrisy from your hanging +sleeves till your Geneva cassock—from the cradle to this day,—and +it is a thing of nature to you; and you are surprised that a rough, rattling, +honest fellow, accustomed to speak truth all his life, and especially when he +found it at the bottom of a flask, cannot be so perfect a prig as +thyself—Zooks! there is no equality betwixt us—A trained diver +might as well, because he can retain his breath for ten minutes without +inconvenience, upbraid a poor devil for being like to burst in twenty seconds, +at the bottom of ten fathoms water—And, after all, considering the guise +is so new to me, I think I bear myself indifferently well—try me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are there any more news from Worcester fight?” asked Everard, in a +tone so serious that it imposed on his companion, who replied in his genuine +character— +</p> + +<p> +“Worse!—d—n me, worse an hundred times than +reported—totally broken. Noll hath certainly sold himself to the devil, +and his lease will have an end one day—that is all our present +comfort.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! and would this be your answer to the first red-coat who asked the +question?” said Everard. “Methinks you would find a speedy passport +to the next corps de garde.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay,” answered Wildrake, “I thought you asked me in +your own person.—Lack-a-day! a great mercy—a glorifying +mercy—a crowning mercy—a vouchsafing—an uplifting—I +profess the malignants are scattered from Dan to Beersheba—smitten, hip +and thigh, even until the going down of the sun!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear you aught of Colonel Thornhaugh’s wounds?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is dead,” answered Wildrake, “that’s one +comfort—the roundheaded rascal!—Nay, hold! it was but a trip of the +tongue—I meant, the sweet godly youth.” +</p> + +<p> +“And hear you aught of the young man, King of Scotland, as they call +him?” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing but that he is hunted like a partridge on the mountains. May God +deliver him, and confound his enemies!—Zoons, Mark Everard, I can fool it +no longer. Do you not remember, that at the Lincoln’s-Inn +gambols—though you did not mingle much in them, I think—I used +always to play as well as any of them when it came to the action, but they +could never get me to rehearse conformably. It’s the same at this day. I +hear your voice, and I answer to it in the true tone of my heart; but when I am +in the company of your snuffling friends, you have seen me act my part +indifferent well.” +</p> + +<p> +“But indifferent, indeed,” replied Everard; “however, there +is little call on you to do aught, save to be modest and silent. Speak little, +and lay aside, if you can, your big oaths and swaggering looks—set your +hat even on your brows.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, that is the curse! I have been always noted for the jaunty manner in +which I wear my castor—Hard when a man’s merits become his +enemies!” +</p> + +<p> +“You must remember you are my clerk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Secretary,” answered Wildrake: “let it be secretary, if you +love me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must be clerk, and nothing else—plain clerk—and remember +to be civil and obedient,” replied Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“But you should not lay on your commands with so much ostentatious +superiority, Master Markham Everard. Remember, I am your senior of three +years’ standing. Confound me, if I know how to take it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Was ever such a fantastic wrong-head!—For my sake, if not for +thine own, bend thy freakish folly to listen to reason. Think that I have +incurred both risk and shame on thy account.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, thou art a right good fellow, Mark,” replied the cavalier; +“and for thy sake I will do much—but remember to cough, and cry +hem! when thou seest me like to break bounds. And now, tell me whither we are +bound for the night.” +</p> + +<p> +“To Woodstock Lodge, to look after my uncle’s property,” +answered Markham Everard: “I am informed that soldiers have taken +possession—Yet how could that be if thou foundest the party drinking in +Woodstock?” +</p> + +<p> +“There was a kind of commissary or steward, or some such rogue, had gone +down to the Lodge,” replied Wildrake; “I had a peep at him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” replied Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, verily,” said Wildrake, “to speak your own language. +Why, as I passed through the park in quest of you, scarce half an hour since, I +saw a light in the Lodge—Step this way, you will see it yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the north-west angle?” returned Everard. “It is from a +window in what they call Victor Lee’s apartment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” resumed Wildrake, “I had been long one of +Lundsford’s lads, and well used to patrolling duty—So, rat me, says +I, if I leave a light in my rear, without knowing what it means. Besides, Mark, +thou hadst said so much to me of thy pretty cousin, I thought I might as well +have a peep, if I could.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thoughtless, incorrigible man! to what dangers do you expose yourself +and your friends, in mere wantonness!—But go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“By this fair moonshine, I believe thou art jealous, Mark Everard!” +replied his gay companion; “there is no occasion; for, in any case, I, +who was to see the lady, was steeled by honour against the charms of my +friend’s Chloe—Then the lady was not to see me, so could make no +comparisons to thy disadvantage, thou knowest—Lastly, as it fell out, +neither of us saw the other at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of that I am well aware. Mrs. Alice left the Lodge long before sunset, +and never returned. What didst thou see to introduce with such preface?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, no great matter,” replied Wildrake; “only getting upon +a sort of buttress, (for I can climb like any cat that ever mewed in any +gutter,) and holding on by the vines and creepers which grew around, I obtained +a station where I could see into the inside of that same parlour thou spokest +of just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what saw’st thou there?” once more demanded Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, no great matter, as I said before,” replied the cavalier; +“for in these times it is no new thing to see churls carousing in royal +or noble chambers. I saw two rascallions engaged in emptying a solemn stoup of +strong waters, and dispatching a huge venison pasty, which greasy mess, for +their convenience, they had placed on a lady’s work-table—One of +them was trying an air on a lute.” +</p> + +<p> +“The profane villains!” exclaimed Everard, “it was +Alice’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well said, comrade—I am glad your phlegm can be moved. I did but +throw in these incidents of the lute and the table, to try if it was possible +to get a spark of human spirit out of you, besanctified as you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“What like were the men?” said young Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“The one a slouch-hatted, long-cloaked, sour-faced fanatic, like the rest +of you, whom I took to be the steward or commissary I heard spoken of in the +town; the other was a short sturdy fellow, with a wood-knife at his girdle, and +a long quarterstaff lying beside him—a black-haired knave, with white +teeth and a merry countenance—one of the under-rangers or bow-bearers of +these walks, I fancy.” +</p> + +<p> +“They must have been Desborough’s favourite, trusty Tomkins,” +said Everard, “and Joceline Joliffe, the keeper. Tomkins is +Desborough’s right hand—an Independent, and hath pourings forth, as +he calls them. Some think that his gifts have the better of his grace. I have +heard of his abusing opportunities.” +</p> + +<p> +“They were improving them when I saw them,” replied Wildrake, +“and made the bottle smoke for it—when, as the devil would have it, +a stone, which had been dislodged from the crumbling buttress, gave way under +my weight. A clumsy fellow like thee would have been so long thinking what was +to be done, that he must needs have followed it before he could make up his +mind; but I, Mark, I hopped like a squirrel to an ivy twig, and stood +fast—was wellnigh shot, though, for the noise alarmed them both. They +looked to the oriel, and saw me on the outside; the fanatic fellow took out a +pistol—as they have always such texts in readiness hanging beside the +little clasped Bible, thou know’st—the keeper seized his +hunting-pole—I treated them both to a roar and a grin—thou must +know I can grimace like a baboon—I learned the trick from a French +player, who could twist his jaws into a pair of nut-crackers—and +therewithal I dropped myself sweetly on the grass, and ran off so trippingly, +keeping the dark side of the wall as long as I could, that I am wellnigh +persuaded they thought I was their kinsman, the devil, come among them +uncalled. They were abominably startled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art most fearfully rash, Wildrake,” said his companion; +“we are now bound for the house—what if they should remember +thee?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it is no treason, is it? No one has paid for peeping since Tom of +Coventry’s days; and if he came in for a reckoning, belike it was for a +better treat than mine. But trust me, they will no more know me, than a man who +had only seen your friend Noll at a conventicle of saints, would know the same +Oliver on horseback, and charging with his lobster-tailed squadron; or the same +Noll cracking a jest and a bottle with wicked Waller the poet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! not a word of Oliver, as thou dost value thyself and me. It is ill +jesting with the rock you may split on.—But here is the gate—we +will disturb these honest gentlemen’s recreations.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he applied the large and ponderous knocker to the hall-door. +“Rat-tat-tat-too!” said Wildrake; “there is a fine alarm to +you cuckolds and round-heads.” He then half-mimicked, half-sung the march +so called:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Cuckolds, come dig, cuckolds, come dig;<br/> +Round about cuckolds, come dance to my jig!” +</p> + +<p> +“By Heaven! this passes Midsummer frenzy,” said Everard, turning +angrily to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit, not a bit,” replied Wildrake; “it is but a slight +expectoration, just like what one makes before beginning a long speech. I will +be grave for an hour together, now I have got that point of war out of my +head.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, steps were heard in the hall, and the wicket of the great door was +partly opened, but secured with a chain in case of accidents. The visage of +Tomkins, and that of Joceline beneath it, appeared at the chink, illuminated by +the lamp which the latter held in his hand, and Tomkins demanded the meaning of +this alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“I demand instant admittance!” said Everard. “Joliffe, you +know me well?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do, sir,” replied Joceline, “and could admit you with all +my heart; but, alas! sir, you see I am not key-keeper—Here is the +gentleman whose warrant I must walk by—The Lord help me, seeing times are +such as they be!” +</p> + +<p> +“And when that gentleman, who I think may be Master Desborough’s +valet”— +</p> + +<p> +“His honour’s unworthy secretary, an it please you,” +interposed Tomkins; while Wildrake whispered in Everard’s ear; “I +will be no longer secretary. Mark, thou wert quite right—the clerk must +be the more gentlemanly calling.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if you are Master Desborough’s secretary, I presume you know +me and my condition well enough,” said Everard, addressing the +Independent, “not to hesitate to admit me and my attendant to a +night’s quarters in the Lodge?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely not, surely not,” said the Independent—“that +is, if your worship thinks you would be better accommodated here than up at the +house of entertainment in the town, which men unprofitably call Saint +George’s Inn. There is but confined accommodation here, your +honour—and we have been frayed out of our lives already by the visitation +of Satan—albeit his fiery dart is now quenched.” +</p> + +<p> +“This may be all well in its place, Sir Secretary,” said Everard; +“and you may find a corner for it when you are next tempted to play the +preacher. But I will take it for no apology for keeping me here in the cold +harvest wind; and if not presently received, and suitably too, I will report +you to your master for insolence in your office.” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary of Desborough did not dare offer farther opposition; for it is +well known that Desborough himself only held his consequence as a kinsman of +Cromwell; and the Lord-General, who was well nigh paramount already, was known +to be strongly favourable both to the elder and younger Everard. It is true, +they were Presbyterians and he an Independent; and that though sharing those +feelings of correct morality and more devoted religious feeling, by which, with +few exceptions, the Parliamentarian party were distinguished, the Everards were +not disposed to carry these attributes to the extreme of enthusiasm, practised +by so many others at the time. Yet it was well known that whatever might be +Cromwell’s own religious creed, he was not uniformly bounded by it in the +choice of his favourites, but extended his countenance to those who could serve +him, even, although, according to the phrase of the time, they came out of the +darkness of Egypt. The character of the elder Everard stood very high for +wisdom and sagacity; besides, being of a good family and competent fortune, his +adherence would lend a dignity to any side he might espouse. Then his son had +been a distinguished and successful soldier, remarkable for the discipline he +maintained among his men, the bravery which he showed in the time of action, +and the humanity with which he was always ready to qualify the consequences of +victory. Such men were not to be neglected, when many signs combined to show +that the parties in the state, who had successfully accomplished the deposition +and death of the King, were speedily to quarrel among themselves about the +division of the spoils. The two Everards were therefore much courted by +Cromwell, and their influence with him was supposed to be so great, that trusty +Master Secretary Tomkins cared not to expose himself to risk, by contending +with Colonel Everard for such a trifle as a night’s lodging. +</p> + +<p> +Joceline was active on his side—more lights were obtained—more wood +thrown on the fire—and the two newly-arrived strangers were introduced +into Victor Lee’s parlour, as it was called, from the picture over the +chimney-piece, which we have already described. It was several minutes ere +Colonel Everard could recover his general stoicism of deportment, so strongly +was he impressed by finding himself in the apartment, under whose roof he had +passed so many of the happiest hours of his life. There was the cabinet, which +he had seen opened with such feelings of delight when Sir Henry Lee deigned to +give him instructions in fishing, and to exhibit hooks and lines, together with +all the materials for making the artificial fly, then little known. There hung +the ancient family picture, which, from some odd mysterious expressions of his +uncle relating to it, had become to his boyhood, nay, his early youth, a +subject of curiosity and of fear. He remembered how, when left alone in the +apartment, the searching eye of the old warrior seemed always bent upon his, in +whatever part of the room he placed himself, and how his childish imagination +was perturbed at a phenomenon, for which he could not account. +</p> + +<p> +With these came a thousand dearer and warmer recollections of his early +attachment to his pretty cousin Alice, when he assisted her at her lessons, +brought water for her flowers, or accompanied her while she sung; and he +remembered that while her father looked at them with a good-humoured and +careless smile, he had once heard him mutter, “And if it should turn out +so—why, it might be best for both,” and the theories of happiness +he had reared on these words. All these visions had been dispelled by the +trumpet of war, which called Sir Henry Lee and himself to opposite sides; and +the transactions of this very day had shown, that even Everard’s success +as a soldier and a statesman seemed absolutely to prohibit the chance of their +being revived. +</p> + +<p> +He was waked out of this unpleasing reverie by the approach of Joceline, who, +being possibly a seasoned toper, had made the additional arrangements with more +expedition and accuracy, than could have been expected from a person engaged as +he had been since night-fall. +</p> + +<p> +He now wished to know the Colonel’s directions for the night. +</p> + +<p> +“Would he eat anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did his honour choose to accept Sir Henry Lee’s bed, which was +ready prepared?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“That of Mistress Alice Lee should be prepared for the Secretary.” +</p> + +<p> +“On pain of thine ears—No,” replied Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Where then was the worthy Secretary to be quartered?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the dog-kennel, if you list,” replied Colonel Everard; +“but,” added he, stepping to the sleeping apartment of Alice, which +opened from the parlour, locking it, and taking out the key, “no one +shall profane this chamber.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had his honour any other commands for the night?” +</p> + +<p> +“None, save to clear the apartment of yonder man. My clerk will remain +with me—I have orders which must be written out.—Yet +stay—Thou gavest my letter this morning to Mistress Alice?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, good Joceline, what she said when she received it?” +</p> + +<p> +“She seemed much concerned, sir; and indeed I think that she wept a +little—but indeed she seemed very much distressed.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what message did she send to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“None, may it please your honour—She began to say, ‘Tell my +cousin Everard that I will communicate my uncle’s kind purpose to my +father, if I can get fitting opportunity—but that I greatly +fear’—and there checked herself, as it were, and said, ‘I +will write to my cousin; and as it may be late ere I have an opportunity of +speaking with my father, do thou come for my answer after +service.’—So I went to church myself, to while away the time; but +when I returned to the Chase, I found this man had summoned my master to +surrender, and, right or wrong, I must put him in possession of the Lodge. I +would fain have given your honour a hint that the old knight and my young +mistress were like to take you on the form, but I could not mend the +matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou hast done well, good fellow, and I will remember thee.—And +now, my masters,” he said, advancing to the brace of clerks or +secretaries, who had in the meanwhile sate quietly down beside the stone +bottle, and made up acquaintance over a glass of its contents—“Let +me remind you, that the night wears late.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is something cries tinkle, tinkle, in the bottle yet,” said +Wildrake, in reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Hem! hem! hem!” coughed the Colonel of the Parliament service; and +if his lips did not curse his companion’s imprudence, I will not answer +for what arose in his heart,—“Well!” he said, observing that +Wildrake had filled his own glass and Tomkins’s, “take that parting +glass and begone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you not be pleased to hear first,” said Wildrake, “how +this honest gentleman saw the devil to-night look through a pane of yonder +window, and how he thinks he had a mighty strong resemblance to your +worship’s humble slave and varlet scribbler? Would you but hear this, +sir, and just sip a glass of this very recommendable strong waters?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will drink none, sir,” said Colonel Everard sternly; “and +I have to tell <i>you</i>, that you have drunken a glass too much +already.—Mr. Tomkins, sir, I wish you good night.” +</p> + +<p> +“A word in season at parting,” said Tomkins, standing up behind the +long leathern back of a chair, hemming and snuffling as if preparing for an +exhortation. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, sir,” replied Markham Everard sternly; “you are +not now sufficiently yourself to guide the devotion of others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Woe be to them that reject!” said the Secretary of the +Commissioners, stalking out of the room—the rest was lost in shutting the +door, or suppressed for fear of offence. +</p> + +<p> +“And now, fool Wildrake, begone to thy bed—yonder it lies,” +pointing to the knight’s apartment. +</p> + +<p> +“What, thou hast secured the lady’s for thyself? I saw thee put the +key in thy pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not—indeed I could not sleep in that apartment—I can +sleep nowhere—but I will watch in this arm-chair.—I have made him +place wood for repairing the fire.—Good now, go to bed thyself, and sleep +off thy liquor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Liquor!—I laugh thee to scorn, Mark—thou art a milksop, and +the son of a milksop, and know’st not what a good fellow can do in the +way of crushing an honest cup.” +</p> + +<p> +“The whole vices of his faction are in this poor fellow +individually,” said the Colonel to himself, eyeing his protegé askance, +as the other retreated into the bedroom, with no very steady +pace—“He is reckless, intemperate, dissolute;—and if I cannot +get him safely shipped for France, he will certainly be both his own ruin and +mine.—Yet, withal, he is kind, brave, and generous, and would have kept +the faith with me which he now expects from me; and in what consists the merit +of our truth, if we observe not our plighted word when we have promised, to our +hurt? I will take the liberty, however, to secure myself against farther +interruption on his part.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he locked the door of communication betwixt the sleeping-room, to +which the cavalier had retreated, and the parlour;— and then, after +pacing the floor thoughtfully, returned to his seat, trimmed the lamp, and drew +out a number of letters.—“I will read these over once more,” +he said, “that, if possible, the thought of public affairs may expel this +keen sense of personal sorrow. Gracious Providence, where is this to end! We +have sacrificed the peace of our families, the warmest wishes of our young +hearts, to right the country in which we were born, and to free her from +oppression; yet it appears, that every step we have made towards liberty, has +but brought us in view of new and more terrific perils, as he who travels in a +mountainous region, is by every step which elevates him higher, placed in a +situation of more imminent hazard.” +</p> + +<p> +He read long and attentively, various tedious and embarrassed letters, in which +the writers, placing before him the glory of God, and the freedom and liberties +of England, as their supreme ends, could not, by all the ambagitory expressions +they made use of, prevent the shrewd eye of Markham Everard from seeing, that +self-interest and views of ambition, were the principal moving springs at the +bottom of their plots. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER THE SIXTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Sleep steals on us even like his brother Death—<br/> +We know not when it comes—we know it must come—<br/> +We may affect to scorn and to contemn it,<br/> +For ’tis the highest pride of human misery<br/> +To say it knows not of an opiate;<br/> +Yet the reft parent, the despairing lover,<br/> +Even the poor wretch who waits for execution,<br/> +Feels this oblivion, against which he thought<br/> +His woes had arm’d his senses, steal upon him,<br/> +And through the fenceless citadel—the body—<br/> +Surprise that haughty garrison—the mind. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +H<small>ERBERT</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Everard experienced the truth contained in the verses of the quaint old +bard whom we have quoted above. Amid private grief, and anxiety for a country +long a prey to civil war, and not likely to fall soon under any fixed or +well-established form of government, Everard and his father had, like many +others, turned their eyes to General Cromwell, as the person whose valour had +made him the darling of the army, whose strong sagacity had hitherto +predominated over the high talents by which he had been assailed in Parliament, +as well as over his enemies in the field, and who was alone in the situation to +<i>settle the nation</i>, as the phrase then went; or, in other words, to +dictate the mode of government. The father and son were both reputed to stand +high in the General’s favour. But Markham Everard was conscious of some +particulars, which induced him to doubt whether Cromwell actually, and at +heart, bore either to his father or to himself that good-will which was +generally believed. He knew him for a profound politician, who could veil for +any length of time his real sentiments of men and things, until they could be +displayed without prejudice to his interest. And he moreover knew that the +General was not likely to forget the opposition which the Presbyterian party +had offered to what Oliver called the Great Matter—the trial, namely, and +execution of the King. In this opposition, his father and he had anxiously +concurred, nor had the arguments, nor even the half-expressed threats of +Cromwell, induced them to flinch from that course, far less to permit their +names to be introduced into the commission nominated to sit in judgment on that +memorable occasion. +</p> + +<p> +This hesitation had occasioned some temporary coldness between the General and +the Everards, father and son. But as the latter remained in the army, and bore +arms under Cromwell both in Scotland, and finally at Worcester, his services +very frequently called forth the approbation of his commander. After the fight +of Worcester, in particular, he was among the number of those officers on whom +Oliver, rather considering the actual and practical extent of his own power, +than the name under which he exercised it, was with difficulty withheld from +imposing the dignity of Knights-Bannerets at his own will and pleasure. It +therefore seemed, that all recollection of former disagreement was obliterated, +and that the Everards had regained their former stronghold in the +General’s affections. There were, indeed, several who doubted this, and +who endeavoured to bring over this distinguished young officer to some other of +the parties which divided the infant Commonwealth. But to these proposals he +turned a deaf ear. Enough of blood, he said, had been spilled—it was time +that the nation should have repose under a firmly-established government, of +strength sufficient to protect property, and of lenity enough to encourage the +return of tranquillity. This, he thought, could only be accomplished by means +of Cromwell, and the greater part of England was of the same opinion. It is +true, that, in thus submitting to the domination of a successful soldier, those +who did so, forgot the principles upon which they had drawn the sword against +the late King. But in revolutions, stern and high principles are often obliged +to give way to the current of existing circumstances; and in many a case, where +wars have been waged for points of metaphysical right, they have been at last +gladly terminated, upon the mere hope of obtaining general tranquillity, as, +after many a long siege, a garrison is often glad to submit on mere security +for life and limb. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Everard, therefore, felt that the support which he afforded Cromwell, +was only under the idea, that, amid a choice of evils, the least was likely to +ensue from a man of the General’s wisdom and valour being placed at the +head of the state; and he was sensible, that Oliver himself was likely to +consider his attachment as lukewarm and imperfect, and measure his gratitude +for it upon the same limited scale. +</p> + +<p> +In the meanwhile, however, circumstances compelled him to make trial of the +General’s friendship. The sequestration of Woodstock, and the warrant to +the Commissioners to dispose of it as national property, had been long granted, +but the interest of the elder Everard had for weeks and months deferred its +execution. The hour was now approaching when the blow could be no longer +parried, especially as Sir Henry Lee, on his side, resisted every proposal of +submitting himself to the existing government, and was therefore, now that his +hour of grace was passed, enrolled in the list of stubborn and irreclaimable +malignants, with whom the Council of State was determined no longer to keep +terms. The only mode of protecting the old knight and his daughter, was to +interest, if possible, the General himself in the matter; and revolving all the +circumstances connected with their intercourse, Colonel Everard felt that a +request, which would so immediately interfere with the interests of Desborough, +the brother-in-law of Cromwell, and one of the present Commissioners, was +putting to a very severe trial the friendship of the latter. Yet no alternative +remained. +</p> + +<p> +With this view, and agreeably to a request from Cromwell, who at parting had +been very urgent to have his written opinion upon public affairs, Colonel +Everard passed the earlier part of the night in arranging his ideas upon the +state of the Commonwealth, in a plan which he thought likely to be acceptable +to Cromwell, as it exhorted him, under the aid of Providence, to become the +saviour of the state, by convoking a free Parliament, and by their aid placing +himself at the head of some form of liberal and established government, which +might supersede the state of anarchy, in which the nation was otherwise likely +to be merged. Taking a general view of the totally broken condition of the +Royalists, and of the various factions which now convulsed the state, he showed +how this might be done without bloodshed or violence. From this topic he +descended to the propriety of keeping up the becoming state of the Executive +Government, in whose hands soever it should be lodged, and thus showed +Cromwell, as the future Stadtholder, or Consul, or Lieutenant-General of Great +Britain and Ireland, a prospect of demesne and residence becoming his dignity. +Then he naturally passed to the disparking and destroying of the royal +residences of England, made a woful picture of the demolition which impended +over Woodstock, and interceded for the preservation of that beautiful seat, as +a matter of personal favour, in which he found himself deeply interested. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Everard, when he had finished his letter, did not find himself greatly +risen in his own opinion. In the course of his political conduct, he had till +this hour avoided mixing up personal motives with his public grounds of action, +and yet he now felt himself making such a composition. But he comforted +himself, or at least silenced this unpleasing recollection, with the +consideration, that the weal of Britain, studied under the aspect of the times, +absolutely required that Cromwell should be at the head of the government; and +that the interest of Sir Henry Lee, or rather his safety and his existence, no +less emphatically demanded the preservation of Woodstock, and his residence +there. Was it a fault of his, that the same road should lead to both these +ends, or that his private interest, and that of the country, should happen to +mix in the same letter? He hardened himself, therefore, to the act, made up and +addressed his packet to the Lord-General, and then sealed it with his seal of +arms. This done, he lay back in the chair; and, in spite of his expectations to +the contrary, fell asleep in the course of his reflections, anxious and +harassing as they were, and did not awaken until the cold grey light of dawn +was peeping through the eastern oriel. +</p> + +<p> +He started at first, rousing himself with the sensation of one who awakes in a +place unknown to him; but the localities instantly forced themselves on his +recollection. The lamp burning dimly in the socket, the wood fire almost +extinguished in its own white embers, the gloomy picture over the +chimney-piece, the sealed packet on the table—all reminded him of the +events of yesterday, and his deliberations of the succeeding night. +“There is no help for it,” he said; “it must be Cromwell or +anarchy. And probably the sense that his title, as head of the Executive +Government, is derived merely from popular consent, may check the too natural +proneness of power to render itself arbitrary. If he govern by Parliaments, and +with regard to the privileges of the subject, wherefore not Oliver as well as +Charles? But I must take measures for having this conveyed safely to the hands +of this future sovereign prince. It will be well to take the first word of +influence with him, since there must be many who will not hesitate to recommend +counsels more violent and precipitate.” +</p> + +<p> +He determined to intrust the important packet to the charge of Wildrake, whose +rashness was never so distinguished, as when by any chance he was left idle and +unemployed; besides, even if his faith had not been otherwise unimpeachable, +the obligations which he owed to his friend Everard must have rendered it such. +</p> + +<p> +These conclusions passed through Colonel Everard’s mind, as, collecting +the remains of wood in the chimney, he gathered them into a hearty blaze, to +remove the uncomfortable feeling of dullness which pervaded his limbs; and by +the time he was a little more warm, again sunk into a slumber, which was only +dispelled by the beams of morning peeping into his apartment. +</p> + +<p> +He arose, roused himself, walked up and down the room, and looked from the +large oriel window on the nearest objects, which were the untrimmed hedges and +neglected walks of a certain wilderness, as it is called in ancient treatises +on gardening, which, kept of yore well ordered, and in all the pride of the +topiary art, presented a succession of yew-trees cut into fantastic forms, of +close alleys, and of open walks, filling about two or three acres of ground on +that side of the Lodge, and forming a boundary between its immediate precincts +and the open Park. Its enclosure was now broken down in many places, and the +hinds with their fawns fed free and unstartled up to the very windows of the +silvan palace. +</p> + +<p> +This had been a favourite scene of Markham’s sports when a boy. He could +still distinguish, though now grown out of shape, the verdant battlements of a +Gothic castle, all created by the gardener’s shears, at which he was +accustomed to shoot his arrows; or, stalking before it like the Knight-errants +of whom he read, was wont to blow his horn, and bid defiance to the supposed +giant or Paynim knight, by whom it was garrisoned. He remembered how he used to +train his cousin, though several years younger than himself, to bear a part in +those revels of his boyish fancy, and to play the character of an elfin page, +or a fairy, or an enchanted princess. He remembered, too, many particulars of +their later acquaintance, from which he had been almost necessarily led to the +conclusion, that from an early period their parents had entertained some idea, +that there might be a well-fitted match betwixt his fair cousin and himself. A +thousand visions, formed in so bright a prospect, had vanished along with it, +but now returned like shadows, to remind him of all he had lost—and for +what?—“For the sake of England,” his proud consciousness +replied,—“Of England, in danger of becoming the prey at once of +bigotry and tyranny.” And he strengthened himself with the recollection, +“If I have sacrificed my private happiness, it is that my country may +enjoy liberty of conscience, and personal freedom; which, under a weak prince +and usurping statesman, she was but too likely to have lost.” +</p> + +<p> +But the busy fiend in his breast would not be repulsed by the bold answer. +“Has thy resistance,” it demanded, “availed thy country, +Markham Everard? Lies not England, after so much bloodshed, and so much misery, +as low beneath the sword of a fortunate soldier, as formerly under the sceptre +of an encroaching prince? Are Parliament, or what remains of them, fitted to +contend with a leader, master of his soldiers’ hearts, as bold and subtle +as he is impenetrable in his designs! This General, who holds the army, and by +that the fate of the nation in his hand, will he lay down his power because +philosophy would pronounce it his duty to become a subject?” +</p> + +<p> +He dared not answer that his knowledge of Cromwell authorised him to expect any +such act of self-denial. Yet still he considered that in times of such infinite +difficulty, that must be the best government, however little desirable in +itself, which should most speedily restore peace to the land, and stop the +wounds which the contending parties were daily inflicting on each other. He +imagined that Cromwell was the only authority under which a steady government +could be formed, and therefore had attached himself to his fortune, though not +without considerable and recurring doubts, how far serving the views of this +impenetrable and mysterious General was consistent with the principles under +which he had assumed arms. +</p> + +<p> +While these things passed in his mind, Everard looked upon the packet which lay +on the table addressed to the Lord-General, and which he had made up before +sleep. He hesitated several times, when he remembered its purport, and in what +degree he must stand committed with that personage, and bound to support his +plans of aggrandizement, when once that communication was in Oliver +Cromwell’s possession. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet it must be so,” he said at last, with a deep sigh. +“Among the contending parties, he is the strongest—the wisest and +most moderate— and ambitious though he be, perhaps not the most +dangerous. Some one must be trusted with power to preserve and enforce general +order, and who can possess or wield such power like him that is head of the +victorious armies of England? Come what will in future, peace and the +restoration of law ought to be our first and most pressing object. This remnant +of a parliament cannot keep their ground against the army, by mere appeal to +the sanction of opinion. If they design to reduce the soldiery, it must be by +actual warfare, and the land has been too long steeped in blood. But Cromwell +may, and I trust will, make a moderate accommodation with them, on grounds by +which peace may be preserved; and it is to this which we must look and trust +for a settlement of the kingdom, alas! and for the chance of protecting my +obstinate kinsman from the consequences of his honest though absurd +pertinacity.” +</p> + +<p> +Silencing some internal feelings of doubt and reluctance by such reasoning as +this, Markham Everard continued in his resolution to unite himself with +Cromwell in the struggle which was evidently approaching betwixt the civil and +military authorities; not as the course which, if at perfect liberty, he would +have preferred adopting, but as the best choice between two dangerous +extremities to which the times had reduced him. He could not help trembling, +however, when he recollected that his father, though hitherto the admirer of +Cromwell, as the implement by whom so many marvels had been wrought in England, +might not be disposed to unite with his interest against that of the Long +Parliament, of which he had been, till partly laid aside by continued +indisposition, an active and leading member. This doubt also he was obliged to +swallow or strangle, as he might; but consoled himself with the ready argument, +that it was impossible his father could see matters in another light than that +in which they occurred to himself. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.</h2> + +<p> +Determined at length to dispatch his packet to the General without delay, +Colonel Everard approached the door of the apartment, in which, as was evident +from the heavy breathing within, the prisoner Wildrake enjoyed a deep slumber, +under the influence of liquor at once and of fatigue. In turning the key, the +bolt, which was rather rusty, made a resistance so noisy, as partly to attract +the sleeper’s attention, though not to awake him. Everard stood by his +bedside, as he heard him mutter, “Is it morning already, +jailor?—Why, you dog, an you had but a cast of humanity in you, you would +qualify your vile news with a cup of sack;—hanging is sorry work, my +masters—and sorrow’s dry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Up, Wildrake—up, thou ill-omened dreamer,” said his friend, +shaking him by the collar. +</p> + +<p> +“Hands off!” answered the sleeper.—“I can climb a +ladder without help, I trow.”—He then sate up in the bed, and +opening his eyes, stared around him, and exclaimed, “Zounds! Mark, is it +only thou? I thought it was all over with me—fetters were struck from my +legs—rope drawn round my gullet—irons knocked off my +hands—hempen cravat tucked on,—all ready for a dance in the open +element upon slight footing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Truce with thy folly, Wildrake; sure the devil of drink, to whom thou +hast, I think, sold thyself”— +</p> + +<p> +“For a hogshead of sack,” interrupted Wildrake; “the bargain +was made in a cellar in the Vintry.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am as mad as thou art, to trust any thing to thee,” said +Markham; “I scarce believe thou hast thy senses yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“What should ail me?” said Wildrake—“I trust I have not +tasted liquor in my sleep, saving that I dreamed of drinking small-beer with +Old Noll, of his own brewing. But do not look so glum, man—I am the same +Roger Wildrake that I ever was; as wild as a mallard, but as true as a +game-cock. I am thine own chum, man—bound to thee by thy kind +deeds— <i>devinctus beneficio</i>—there is Latin for it; and where +is the thing thou wilt charge me with, that I wilt not, or dare not execute, +were it to pick the devil’s teeth with my rapier, after he had +breakfasted upon round-heads?” +</p> + +<p> +“You will drive me mad,” said Everard.—“When I am about +to intrust all I have most valuable on earth to your management, your conduct +and language are those of a mere Bedlamite. Last night I made allowance for thy +drunken fury; but who can endure thy morning madness?—it is unsafe for +thyself and me, Wildrake—it is unkind—I might say +ungrateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, do not say <i>that</i>, my friend,” said the cavalier, with +some show of feeling; “and do not judge of me with a severity that cannot +apply to such as I am. We who have lost our all in these sad jars, who are +compelled to shift for our living, not from day to day, but from meal to +meal—we whose only hiding place is the jail, whose prospect of final +repose is the gallows,—what canst thou expect from us, but to bear such a +lot with a light heart, since we should break down under it with a heavy +one?” +</p> + +<p> +This was spoken in a tone of feeling which found a responding string in +Everard’s bosom. He took his friend’s hand, and pressed it kindly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, if I seemed harsh to thee, Wildrake, I profess it was for thine own +sake more than mine. I know thou hast at the bottom of thy levity, as deep a +principle of honour and feeling as ever governed a human heart. But thou art +thoughtless—thou art rash—and I protest to thee, that wert thou to +betray thyself in this matter, in which I trust thee, the evil consequences to +myself would not afflict me more than the thought of putting thee into such +danger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, if you take it on that tone, Mark,” said the cavalier, making +an effort to laugh, evidently that he might conceal a tendency to a different +emotion, “thou wilt make children of us both—babes and sucklings, +by the hilt of this bilbo.—Come, trust me; I can be cautious when time +requires it—no man ever saw me drink when an alert was expected—and +not one poor pint of wine will I taste until I have managed this matter for +thee. Well, I am thy secretary—clerk—I had forgot—and carry +thy dispatches to Cromwell, taking good heed not to be surprised or choused out +of my lump of loyalty, (striking his finger on the packet,) and I am to deliver +it to the most loyal hands to which it is most humbly addressed—Adzooks, +Mark, think of it a moment longer— Surely thou wilt not carry thy +perverseness so far as to strike in with this bloody-minded rebel?—Bid me +give him three inches of my dudgeon-dagger, and I will do it much more +willingly than present him with thy packet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go to,” replied Everard, “this is beyond our bargain. If you +will help me it is well; if not, let me lose no time in debating with thee, +since I think every moment an age till the packet is in the General’s +possession. It is the only way left me to obtain some protection, and a place +of refuge for my uncle and his daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +“That being the case,” said the cavalier, “I will not spare +the spur. My nag up yonder at the town will be ready for the road in a trice, +and thou mayst reckon on my being with Old Noll—thy General, I +mean—in as short time as man and horse may consume betwixt Woodstock and +Windsor, where I think I shall for the present find thy friend keeping +possession where he has slain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, not a word of that. Since we parted last night, I have shaped thee +a path which will suit thee better than to assume the decency of language and +of outward manner, of which thou hast so little. I have acquainted the General +that thou hast been by bad example and bad education”— +</p> + +<p> +“Which is to be interpreted by contraries, I hope,” said Wildrake; +“for sure I have been as well born and bred up as any lad of +Leicestershire might desire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I prithee, hush—thou hast, I say, by bad example become at +one time a malignant, and mixed in the party of the late King. But seeing what +things were wrought in the nation by the General, thou hast come to a clearness +touching his calling to be a great implement in the settlement of these +distracted kingdoms. This account of thee will not only lead him to pass over +some of thy eccentricities, should they break out in spite of thee, but will +also give thee an interest with him as being more especially attached to his +own person.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doubtless,” said Wildrake, “as every fisher loves best the +trouts that are of his own tickling.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is likely, I think, he will send thee hither with letters to +me,” said the Colonel, “enabling me to put a stop to the +proceedings of these sequestrators, and to give poor old Sir Henry Lee +permission to linger out his days among the oaks he loves to look upon. I have +made this my request to General Cromwell, and I think my father’s +friendship and my own may stretch so far on his regard without risk of +cracking, especially standing matters as they now do—thou dost +understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Entirely well,” said the cavalier; “stretch, quotha!—I +would rather stretch a rope than hold commerce with the old King-killing +ruffian. But I have said I will be guided by thee, Markham, and rat me but I +will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be cautious, then,” said Everard, “mark well what he does +and says—more especially what he does; for Oliver is one of those whose +mind is better known by his actions than by his words; and stay—I warrant +thee thou wert setting off without a cross in thy purse?” +</p> + +<p> +“Too true, Mark,” said Wildrake; “the last noble melted last +night among yonder blackguard troopers of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Roger,” replied the Colonel, “that is easily +mended.” So saying, he slipped his purse into his friend’s hand. +“But art thou not an inconsiderate weather-brained fellow, to set forth +as thou wert about to do, without any thing to bear thy charges; what couldst +thou have done?” +</p> + +<p> +“Faith, I never thought of that; I must have cried <i>Stand</i>, I +suppose, to the first pursy townsman or greasy grazier that I met o’ the +heath—it is many a good fellow’s shift in these bad times.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go to,” said Everard; “be cautious—use none of your +loose acquaintance—rule your tongue—beware of the +wine-pot—for there is little danger if thou couldst only but keep thyself +sober—Be moderate in speech, and forbear oaths or vaunting.” +</p> + +<p> +“In short, metamorphose myself into such a prig as thou art, Mark,— +Well,” said Wildrake, “so far as outside will go, I think I can +make a <i>Hope-on-High-Bomby</i><a href="#fn7.1" name="fnref7.1" id="fnref7.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +as well as thou canst. Ah! those were merry days when we saw Mills present +Bomby at the Fortune playhouse, Mark, ere I had lost my laced cloak and the +jewel in my ear, or thou hadst gotten the wrinkle on thy brow, and the +puritanic twist of thy mustache!” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn7.1" id="fn7.1"></a> <a href="#fnref7.1">[1]</a> +A puritanic character in one of Beaumont and Fletcher’s plays. +</p> + +<p> +“They were like most worldly pleasures, Wildrake,” replied Everard, +“sweet in the mouth and bitter in digestion.—But away with thee; +and when thou bring’st back my answer, thou wilt find me either here or +at Saint George’s Inn, at the little borough.—Good luck to +thee—Be but cautious how thou bearest thyself.” +</p> + +<p> +The Colonel remained in deep meditation.—“I think,” he said, +“I have not pledged myself too far to the General. A breach between him +and the Parliament seems inevitable, and would throw England back into civil +war, of which all men are wearied. He may dislike my messenger—yet that I +do not greatly fear. He knows I would choose such as I can myself depend on, +and hath dealt enough with the stricter sort to be aware that there are among +them, as well as elsewhere, men who can hide two faces under one hood.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +For there in lofty air was seen to stand<br/> +The stern Protector of the conquer’d land;<br/> +Draw in that look with which he wept and swore,<br/> +Turn’d out the members and made fast the door,<br/> +Ridding the house of every knave and drone,<br/> +Forced—though it grieved his soul—to rule alone. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +T<small>HE</small> F<small>RANK</small> C<small>OURTSHIP</small>.—C<small>RABBE</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Leaving Colonel Everard to his meditations, we follow the jolly cavalier, his +companion, who, before mounting at the George, did not fail to treat himself to +his morning-draught of eggs and muscadine, to enable him to face the harvest +wind. +</p> + +<p> +Although he had suffered himself to be sunk in the extravagant license which +was practised by the cavaliers, as if to oppose their conduct in every point to +the preciseness of their enemies, yet Wildrake, well-born and well-educated, +and endowed with good natural parts, and a heart which even debauchery, and the +wild life of a roaring cavalier, had not been able entirely to corrupt, moved +on his present embassy with a strange mixture of feelings, such as perhaps he +had never in his life before experienced. +</p> + +<p> +His feelings as a loyalist led him to detest Cromwell, whom in other +circumstances he would scarce have wished to see, except in a field of battle, +where he could have had the pleasure to exchange pistol-shots with him. But +with this hatred there was mixed a certain degree of fear. Always victorious +wherever he fought, the remarkable person whom Wildrake was now approaching had +acquired that influence over the minds of his enemies, which constant success +is so apt to inspire—they dreaded while they hated him—and joined +to these feelings, was a restless meddling curiosity, which made a particular +feature in Wildrake’s character, who, having long had little business of +his own, and caring nothing about that which he had, was easily attracted by +the desire of seeing whatever was curious or interesting around him. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to see the old rascal after all,” he said, +“were it but to say that I <i>had</i> seen him.” +</p> + +<p> +He reached Windsor in the afternoon, and felt on his arrival the strongest +inclination to take up his residence at some of his old haunts, when he had +occasionally frequented that fair town in gayer days. But resisting all +temptations of this kind, he went courageously to the principal inn, from which +its ancient emblem, the Garter, had long disappeared. The master, too, whom +Wildrake, experienced in his knowledge of landlords and hostelries, had +remembered a dashing Mine Host of Queen Bess’s school, had now sobered +down to the temper of the times, shook his head when he spoke of the +Parliament, wielded his spigot with the gravity of a priest conducting a +sacrifice, wished England a happy issue out of all her difficulties, and +greatly lauded his Excellency the Lord-General. Wildrake also remarked, that +his wine was better than it was wont to be, the Puritans having an excellent +gift at detecting every fallacy in that matter; and that his measures were less +and his charges larger—circumstances which he was induced to attend to, +by mine host talking a good deal about his conscience. +</p> + +<p> +He was told by this important personage, that the Lord-General received frankly +all sorts of persons; and that he might obtain access to him next morning, at +eight o’clock, for the trouble of presenting himself at the Castle-gate, +and announcing himself as the bearer of despatches to his Excellency. +</p> + +<p> +To the Castle the disguised cavalier repaired at the hour appointed. Admittance +was freely permitted to him by the red-coated soldier, who, with austere looks, +and his musket on his shoulder, mounted guard at the external gate of that +noble building. Wildrake passed through the underward or court, gazing as he +passed upon the beautiful Chapel, which had but lately received, in darkness +and silence, the unhonoured remains of the slaughtered King of England. Rough +as Wildrake was, the recollection of this circumstance affected him so +strongly, that he had nearly turned back in a sort of horror, rather than face +the dark and daring man, to whom, amongst all the actors in that melancholy +affair, its tragic conclusion was chiefly to be imputed. But he felt the +necessity of subduing all sentiments of this nature, and compelled himself to +proceed in a negotiation intrusted to his conduct by one to whom he was so much +obliged as Colonel Everard. At the ascent, which passed by the Round Tower, he +looked to the ensign-staff, from which the banner of England was wont to float. +It was gone, with all its rich emblazonry, its gorgeous quarterings, and +splendid embroidery; and in its room waved that of the Commonwealth, the cross +of Saint George, in its colours of blue and red, not yet intersected by the +diagonal cross of Scotland, which was soon after assumed, as if in evidence of +England’s conquest over her ancient enemy. This change of ensigns +increased the train of his gloomy reflections, in which, although contrary to +his wont, he became so deeply wrapped, that the first thing which recalled him +to himself, was the challenge from the sentinel, accompanied with a stroke of +the butt of his musket on the pavement, with an emphasis which made Wildrake +start. +</p> + +<p> +“Whither away, and who are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“The bearer of a packet,” answered Wildrake, “to the +worshipful the Lord-General.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand till I call the officer of the guard.” +</p> + +<p> +The corporal made his appearance, distinguished above those of his command by a +double quantity of band round his neck, a double height of steeple-crowned hat, +a larger allowance of cloak, and a treble proportion of sour gravity of aspect. +It might be read on his countenance, that he was one of those resolute +enthusiasts to whom Oliver owed his conquests, whose religious zeal made them +even more than a match for the high-spirited and high-born cavaliers, who +exhausted their valour in vain defence of their sovereign’s person and +crown. He looked with grave solemnity at Wildrake, as if he was making in his +own mind an inventory of his features and dress; and having fully perused them, +he required “to know his business.” +</p> + +<p> +“My business,” said Wildrake, as firmly as he could—for the +close investigation of this man had given him some unpleasant nervous +sensations—“my business is with your General.” +</p> + +<p> +“With his Excellency the Lord-General, thou wouldst say?” replied +the corporal. “Thy speech, my friend, savours too little of the reverence +due to his Excellency.” +</p> + +<p> +“D—n his Excellency!” was at the lips of the cavalier; but +prudence kept guard, and permitted not the offensive words to escape the +barrier. He only bowed, and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow me,” said the starched figure whom he addressed; and +Wildrake followed him accordingly into the guard-house, which exhibited an +interior characteristic of the times, and very different from what such +military stations present at the present day. +</p> + +<p> +By the fire sat two or three musketeers, listening to one who was expounding +some religious mystery to them. He began half beneath his breath, but in tones +of great volubility, which tones, as he approached the conclusion, became sharp +and eager, as challenging either instant answer or silent acquiescence. The +audience seemed to listen to the speaker with immovable features, only +answering him with clouds of tobacco-smoke, which they rolled from under their +thick mustaches. On a bench lay a soldier on his face: whether asleep, or in a +fit of contemplation, it was impossible to decide. In the midst of the floor +stood an officer, as he seemed by his embroidered shoulder-belt and scarf round +his waist, otherwise very plainly attired, who was engaged in drilling a stout +bumpkin, lately enlisted, to the manual, as it was then used. The motions and +words of command were twenty at the very least; and until they were regularly +brought to an end, the corporal did not permit Wildrake either to sit down or +move forward beyond the threshold of the guard-house. So he had to listen in +succession to—Poise your musket—Rest your musket—Cock your +musket—Handle your primers—and many other forgotten words of +discipline, until at length the words, “Order your musket,” ended +the drill for the time. “Thy name, friend?” said the officer to the +recruit, when the lesson was over. +</p> + +<p> +“Ephraim,” answered the fellow, with an affected twang through the +nose. +</p> + +<p> +“And what besides Ephraim?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ephraim Cobb, from the goodly city of Glocester, where I have dwelt for +seven years, serving apprentice to a praiseworthy cordwainer.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a goodly craft,” answered the officer; “but casting in +thy lot with ours, doubt not that thou shalt be set beyond thine awl, and thy +last to boot.” +</p> + +<p> +A grim smile of the speaker accompanied this poor attempt at a pun; and then +turning round to the corporal, who stood two paces off, with the face of one +who seemed desirous of speaking, said, “How now, corporal, what +tidings?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here is one with a packet, an please your Excellency,” said the +corporal—“Surely my spirit doth not rejoice in him, seeing I esteem +him as a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” +</p> + +<p> +By these words, Wildrake learned that he was in the actual presence of the +remarkable person to whom he was commissioned; and he paused to consider in +what manner he ought to address him. +</p> + +<p> +The figure of Oliver Cromwell was, as is generally known, in no way +prepossessing. He was of middle stature, strong and coarsely made, with harsh +and severe features, indicative, however, of much natural sagacity and depth of +thought. His eyes were grey and piercing; his nose too large in proportion to +his other features, and of a reddish hue. +</p> + +<p> +His manner of speaking, when he had the purpose to make himself distinctly +understood, was energetic and forcible, though neither graceful nor eloquent. +No man could on such occasion put his meaning into fewer and more decisive +words. But when, as it often happened, he had a mind to play the orator, for +the benefit of people’s ears, without enlightening their understanding, +Cromwell was wont to invest his meaning, or that which seemed to be his +meaning, in such a mist of words, surrounding it with so many exclusions and +exceptions, and fortifying it with such a labyrinth of parentheses, that though +one of the most shrewd men in England, he was, perhaps, the most unintelligible +speaker that ever perplexed an audience. It has been long since said by the +historian, that a collection of the Protector’s speeches would make, with +a few exceptions, the most nonsensical book in the world; but he ought to have +added, that nothing could be more nervous, concise, and intelligible, than what +he really intended should be understood. +</p> + +<p> +It was also remarked of Cromwell, that though born of a good family, both by +father and mother, and although he had the usual opportunities of education and +breeding connected with such an advantage, the fanatic democratic ruler could +never acquire, or else disdained to practise, the courtesies usually exercised +among the higher classes in their intercourse with each other. His demeanour +was so blunt as sometimes might be termed clownish, yet there was in his +language and manner a force and energy corresponding to his character, which +impressed awe, if it did not impose respect; and there were even times when +that dark and subtle spirit expanded itself, so as almost to conciliate +affection. The turn for humour, which displayed itself by fits, was broad, and +of a low, and sometimes practical character. Something there was in his +disposition congenial to that of his countrymen; a contempt of folly, a hatred +of affectation, and a dislike of ceremony, which, joined to the strong +intrinsic qualities of sense and courage, made him in many respects not an +unfit representative of the democracy of England. +</p> + +<p> +His religion must always be a subject of much doubt, and probably of doubt +which he himself could hardly have cleared up. Unquestionably there was a time +in his life when he was sincerely enthusiastic, and when his natural temper, +slightly subject to hypochondria, was strongly agitated by the same fanaticism +which influenced so many persons of the time. On the other hand, there were +periods during his political career, when we certainly do him no injustice in +charging him with a hypocritical affectation. We shall probably judge him, and +others of the same age, most truly, if we suppose that their religious +professions were partly influential in their own breasts, partly assumed in +compliance with their own interest. And so ingenious is the human heart in +deceiving itself as well as others, that it is probable neither Cromwell +himself, nor those making similar pretensions to distinguished piety, could +exactly have fixed the point at which their enthusiasm terminated and their +hypocrisy commenced; or rather, it was a point not fixed in itself, but +fluctuating with the state of health, of good or bad fortune, of high or low +spirits, affecting the individual at the period. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the celebrated person, who, turning round on Wildrake, and scanning +his countenance closely, seemed so little satisfied with what he beheld, that +he instinctively hitched forward his belt, so as to bring the handle of his +tuck-sword within his reach. But yet, folding his arms in his cloak, as if upon +second thoughts laying aside suspicion, or thinking precaution beneath him, he +asked the cavalier what he was, and whence he came? +</p> + +<p> +“A poor gentleman, sir,—that is, my lord,”—answered +Wildrake; “last from Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what may your tidings be, sir <i>gentleman</i>?” said +Cromwell, with an emphasis. “Truly I have seen those most willing to take +upon them that title, bear themselves somewhat short of wise men, and good men, +and true men, with all their gentility; yet gentleman was a good title in old +England, when men remembered what it was construed to mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say truly, sir,” replied Wildrake, suppressing, with +difficulty, some of his usual wild expletives; “formerly gentlemen were +found in gentlemen’s places, but now the world is so changed that you +shall find the broidered belt has changed place with the under +spur-leather.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say’st thou me?” said the General; “I profess thou art +a bold companion, that can bandy words so wantonly;—thou ring’st +somewhat too loud to be good metal, methinks. And, once again, what are thy +tidings with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“This packet,” said Wildrake, “commended to your hands by +Colonel Markham Everard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, I must have mistaken thee,” answered Cromwell, mollified at +the mention of a man’s name whom he had great desire to make his own; +“forgive us, good friend, for such, we doubt not, thou art. Sit thee +down, and commune with thyself as thou may’st, until we have examined the +contents of thy packet. Let him be looked to, and have what he lacks.” So +saying the General left the guard-house, where Wildrake took his seat in the +corner, and awaited with patience the issue of his mission. +</p> + +<p> +The soldiers now thought themselves obliged to treat him with more +consideration, and offered him a pipe of Trinidado, and a black jack filled +with October. But the look of Cromwell, and the dangerous situation in which he +might be placed by the least chance of detection, induced Wildrake to decline +these hospitable offers, and stretching back in his chair, and affecting +slumber, he escaped notice or conversation, until a sort of aide-de-camp, or +military officer in attendance, came to summon him to Cromwell’s +presence. +</p> + +<p> +By this person he was guided to a postern-gate, through which he entered the +body of the Castle, and penetrating through many private passages and +staircases, he at length was introduced into a small cabinet, or parlour, in +which was much rich furniture, some bearing the royal cipher displayed, but all +confused and disarranged, together with several paintings in massive frames, +having their faces turned towards the wall, as if they had been taken down for +the purpose of being removed. +</p> + +<p> +In this scene of disorder, the victorious General of the Commonwealth was +seated in a large easy-chair, covered with damask, and deeply embroidered, the +splendour of which made a strong contrast with the plain, and even homely +character of his apparel; although in look and action he seemed like one who +felt that the seat which might have in former days held a prince, was not too +much distinguished for his own fortunes and ambition. Wildrake stood before +him, nor did he ask him to sit down. +</p> + +<p> +“Pearson,” said Cromwell, addressing himself to the officer in +attendance, “wait in the gallery, but be within call.” Pearson +bowed, and was retiring. “Who are in the gallery beside?” +</p> + +<p> +“Worthy Mr. Gordon, the chaplain, was holding forth but now to Colonel +Overton, and four captains of your Excellency’s regiment.” +</p> + +<p> +“We would have it so,” said the General; “we would not there +were any corner in our dwelling where the hungry soul might not meet with +manna. Was the good man carried onward in his discourse?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mightily borne through,” said Pearson; “and he was touching +the rightful claims which the army, and especially your Excellency, hath +acquired by becoming the instruments in the great work;—not instruments +to be broken asunder and cast away when the day of their service is over, but +to be preserved, and held precious, and prized for their honourable and +faithful labours, for which they have fought and marched, and fasted, and +prayed, and suffered cold and sorrow; while others, who would now gladly see +them disbanded, and broken, and cashiered, eat of the fat, and drink of the +strong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, good man!” said Cromwell, “and did he touch upon this so +feelingly! I could say something—but not now. Begone, Pearson, to the +gallery. Let not our friends lay aside their swords, but watch as well as +pray.” +</p> + +<p> +Pearson retired; and the General, holding the letter of Everard in his hand, +looked again for a long while fixedly at Wildrake, as if considering in what +strain he should address him. +</p> + +<p> +When he did speak, it was, at first, in one of those ambiguous discourses which +we have already described, and by which it was very difficult for any one to +understand his meaning, if, indeed, he knew himself. We shall be as concise in +our statement, as our desire to give the very words of a man so extraordinary +will permit. +</p> + +<p> +“This letter,” he said, “you have brought us from your +master, or patron, Markham Everard; truly an excellent and honourable gentleman +as ever bore a sword upon his thigh, and one who hath ever distinguished +himself in the great work of delivering these three poor unhappy nations. +Answer me not: I know what thou wouldst say.—And this letter he hath sent +to me by thee, his clerk, or secretary, in whom he hath confidence, and in whom +he prays me to have trust, that there may be a careful messenger between us. +And lastly, he hath sent thee to me—Do not answer—I know what thou +wouldst say,—to me, who, albeit, I am of that small consideration, that +it would be too much honour for me even to bear a halberd in this great and +victorious army of England, am nevertheless exalted to the rank of holding the +guidance and the leading-staff thereof.—Nay, do not answer, my +friend—I know what thou wouldst say. Now, when communing thus together, +our discourse taketh, in respect to what I have said, a threefold argument, or +division: First, as it concerneth thy master; secondly, as it concerneth us and +our office; thirdly and lastly, as it toucheth thyself.—Now, as +concerning this good and worthy gentleman, Colonel Markham Everard, truly he +hath played the man from the beginning of these unhappy buffetings, not turning +to the right or to the left, but holding ever in his eye the mark at which he +aimed. Ay, truly, a faithful, honourable gentleman, and one who may well call +me friend; and truly I am pleased to think that he doth so. Nevertheless, in +this vale of tears, we must be governed less by our private respects and +partialities, than by those higher principles and points of duty, whereupon the +good Colonel Markham Everard hath ever framed his purposes, as, truly, I have +endeavoured to form mine, that we may all act as becometh good Englishmen and +worthy patriots. Then, as for Woodstock, it is a great thing which the good +Colonel asks, that it should be taken from the spoil of the godly and left in +keeping of the men of Moab, and especially of the malignant, Henry Lee, whose +hand hath been ever against us when he might find room to raise it; I say, he +hath asked a great thing, both in respect of himself and me. For we of this +poor but godly army of England, are holden, by those of the Parliament, as men +who should render in spoil for them, but be no sharer of it ourselves; even as +the buck, which the hounds pull to earth, furnisheth no part of their own food, +but they are lashed off from the carcass with whips, like those which require +punishment for their forwardness, not reward for their services. Yet I speak +not this so much in respect of this grant of Woodstock, in regard, that, +perhaps, their Lordships of the Council, and also the Committeemen of this +Parliament, may graciously think they have given me a portion in the matter, in +relation that my kinsman Desborough hath an interest allowed him therein; which +interest, as he hath well deserved it for his true and faithful service to +these unhappy and devoted countries, so it would ill become me to diminish the +same to his prejudice, unless it were upon great and public respects. Thus thou +seest how it stands with me, my honest friend, and in what mind I stand +touching thy master’s request to me; which yet I do not say that I can +altogether, or unconditionally, grant or refuse, but only tell my simple +thoughts with regard thereto. Thou understandest me, I doubt not?” +</p> + +<p> +Now, Roger Wildrake, with all the attention he had been able to pay to the +Lord-General’s speech, had got so much confused among the various clauses +of the harangue, that his brain was bewildered, like that of a country clown +when he chances to get himself involved among a crowd of carriages, and cannot +stir a step to get out of the way of one of them, without being in danger of +being ridden over by the others. +</p> + +<p> +The General saw his look of perplexity, and began a new oration, to the same +purpose as before; spoke of his love for his kind friend the Colonel—his +regard for his pious and godly kinsman, Master Desborough— the great +importance of the Palace and Park of Woodstock—the determination of the +Parliament that it should be confiscated, and the produce brought into the +coffers of the state—his own deep veneration for the authority of +Parliament, and his no less deep sense of the injustice done to the +army—how it was his wish and will that all matters should be settled in +an amicable and friendly manner, without self-seeking, debate, or strife, +betwixt those who had been the hands acting, and such as had been the heads +governing, in that great national cause—how he was willing, truly +willing, to contribute to this work, by laying down, not his commission only, +but his life also, if it were requested of him, or could be granted with safety +to the poor soldiers, to whom, silly poor men, he was bound to be as a father, +seeing that they had followed him with the duty and affection of children. +</p> + +<p> +And here he arrived at another dead pause, leaving Wildrake as uncertain as +before, whether it was or was not his purpose to grant Colonel Everard the +powers he had asked for the protection of Woodstock against the Parliamentary +Commissioners. Internally he began to entertain hopes that the justice of +Heaven, or the effects of remorse, had confounded the regicide’s +understanding. But no—he could see nothing but sagacity in that steady +stern eye, which, while the tongue poured forth its periphrastic language in +such profusion, seemed to watch with severe accuracy the effect which his +oratory produced on the listener. +</p> + +<p> +“Egad,” thought the cavalier to himself, becoming a little familiar +with the situation in which he was placed, and rather impatient of a +conversation—which led to no visible conclusion or termination, “If +Noll were the devil himself, as he is the devil’s darling, I will not be +thus nose-led by him. I’ll e’en brusque it a little, if he goes on +at this rate, and try if I can bring him to a more intelligible mode of +speaking.” +</p> + +<p> +Entertaining this bold purpose, but half afraid to execute it, Wildrake lay by +for an opportunity of making the attempt, while Cromwell was apparently unable +to express his own meaning. He was already beginning a third panegyric upon +Colonel Everard, with sundry varied expressions of his own wish to oblige him, +when Wildrake took the opportunity to strike in, on the General’s making +one of his oratorical pauses. +</p> + +<p> +“So please you” he said bluntly, “your worship has already +spoken on two topics of your discourse, your own worthiness, and that of my +master, Colonel Everard. But, to enable me to do mine errand, it would be +necessary to bestow a few words on the third head.” +</p> + +<p> +“The third?” said Cromwell. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Wildrake, “which, in your honour’s +subdivision of your discourse, touched on my unworthy self. What am I to +do—what portion am I to have in this matter?” +</p> + +<p> +Oliver started at once from the tone of voice he had hitherto used, and which +somewhat resembled the purring of a domestic cat, into the growl of the tiger +when about to spring. “<i>Thy</i> portion, jail-bird!” he +exclaimed, “the gallows—thou shalt hang as high as Haman, if thou +betray counsel!—But,” he added, softening his voice, “keep it +like a true man, and my favour will be the making of thee. Come +hither—thou art bold, I see, though somewhat saucy. Thou hast been a +malignant—so writes my worthy friend Colonel Everard; but thou hast now +given up that falling cause. I tell thee, friend, not all that the Parliament +or the army could do would have pulled down the Stewarts out of their high +places, saving that Heaven had a controversy with them. Well, it is a sweet and +comely thing to buckle on one’s armour in behalf of Heaven’s cause; +otherwise truly, for mine own part, these men might have remained upon the +throne even unto this day. Neither do I blame any for aiding them, until these +successive great judgments have overwhelmed them and their house. I am not a +bloody man, having in me the feeling of human frailty; but, friend, whosoever +putteth his hand to the plough, in the great actings which are now on foot in +these nations, had best beware that he do not look back; for, rely upon my +simple word, that if you fail me, I will not spare on you one foot’s +length of the gallows of Haman. Let me therefore know, at a word, if the leaven +of thy malignancy is altogether drubbed out of thee?” “Your +honourable lordship,” said the cavalier, shrugging up his shoulders, +“has done that for most of us, so far as cudgelling to some tune can +perform it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say’st thou?” said the General, with a grim smile on his +lip, which seemed to intimate that he was not quite inaccessible to flattery; +“yea, truly, thou dost not lie in that—we have been an instrument. +Neither are we, as I have already hinted, so severely bent against those who +have striven against us as malignants, as others may be. The parliament-men +best know their own interest and their own pleasure; but, to my poor thinking, +it is full time to close these jars, and to allow men of all kinds the means of +doing service to their country; and we think it will be thy fault if thou art +not employed to good purpose for the state and thyself, on condition thou +puttest away the old man entirely from thee, and givest thy earnest attention +to what I have to tell thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your lordship need not doubt my attention,” said the cavalier. And +the republican General, after another pause, as one who gave his confidence not +without hesitation, proceeded to explain his views with a distinctness which he +seldom used, yet not without his being a little biassed now and then, by his +long habits of circumlocution, which indeed he never laid entirely aside, save +in the field of battle. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou seest,” he said, “my friend, how things stand with me. +The Parliament, I care not who knows it, love me not—still less do the +Council of State, by whom they manage the executive government of the kingdom. +I cannot tell why they nourish suspicion against me, unless it is because I +will not deliver this poor innocent army, which has followed me in so many +military actions, to be now pulled asunder, broken piecemeal and reduced, so +that they who have protected the state at the expense of their blood, will not +have, perchance, the means of feeding themselves by their labour; which, +methinks, were hard measure, since it is taking from Esau his birthright, even +without giving him a poor mess of pottage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Esau is likely to help himself, I think,” replied Wildrake. +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, thou say’st wisely,” replied the General; “it +is ill starving an armed man, if there is food to be had for +taking—nevertheless, far be it from me to encourage rebellion, or want of +due subordination to these our rulers. I would only petition, in a due and +becoming, a sweet and harmonious manner, that they would listen to our +conditions, and consider our necessities. But, sir, looking on me, and +estimating me so little as they do, you must think that it would be a +provocation in me towards the Council of State, as well as the Parliament, if, +simply to gratify your worthy master, I were to act contrary to their purposes, +or deny currency to the commission under their authority, which is as yet the +highest in the State—and long may it be so for me!—to carry on the +sequestration which they intend. And would it not also be said, that I was +lending myself to the malignant interest, affording this den of the +blood-thirsty and lascivious tyrants of yore, to be in this our day a place of +refuge to that old and inveterate Amalekite, Sir Henry Lee, to keep possession +of the place in which he hath so long glorified himself? Truly it would be a +perilous matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I then to report,” said Wildrake, “an it please you, that +you cannot stead Colonel Everard in this matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Unconditionally, ay—but, taken conditionally, the answer may be +otherwise,”—answered Cromwell. “I see thou art not able to +fathom my purpose, and therefore I will partly unfold it to thee.—But +take notice, that, should thy tongue betray my counsel, save in so far as +carrying it to thy master, by all the blood which has been shed in these wild +times, thou shalt die a thousand deaths in one!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not fear me, sir,” said Wildrake, whose natural boldness and +carelessness of character was for the present time borne down and quelled, like +that of falcon’s in the presence of the eagle. +</p> + +<p> +“Hear me, then,” said Cromwell, “and let no syllable escape +thee. Knowest thou not the young Lee, whom they call Albert, a malignant like +his father, and one who went up with the young Man to that last ruffle which we +had with him at Worcester—May we be grateful for the victory!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know there is such a young gentleman as Albert Lee,” said +Wildrake. +</p> + +<p> +“And knowest thou not—I speak not by way of prying into the good +Colonel’s secrets, but only as it behoves me to know something of the +matter, that I may best judge how I am to serve him—Knowest thou not that +thy master, Markham Everard, is a suitor after the sister of this same +malignant, a daughter of the old Keeper, called Sir Henry Lee?” +</p> + +<p> +“All this I have heard,” said Wildrake, “nor can I deny that +I believe in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, go to.—When the young man Charles Stewart fled from the +field of Worcester, and was by sharp chase and pursuit compelled to separate +himself from his followers, I know by sure intelligence that this Albert Lee +was one of the last who remained with him, if not indeed the very last.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was devilish like him,” said the cavalier, without sufficiently +weighing his expressions, considering in what presence they were to be +uttered—“And I’ll uphold him with my rapier, to be a true +chip of the old block!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, swearest thou?” said the General. “Is this thy +reformation?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never swear, so please you,” replied Wildrake, recollecting +himself, “except there is some mention of malignants and cavaliers in my +hearing; and then the old habit returns, and I swear like one of Goring’s +troopers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out upon thee,” said the General; “what can it avail thee to +practise a profanity so horrible to the ears of others, and which brings no +emolument to him who uses it?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are, doubtless, more profitable sins in the world than the barren +and unprofitable vice of swearing,” was the answer which rose to the lips +of the cavalier; but that was exchanged for a profession of regret for having +given offence. The truth was, the discourse began to take a turn which rendered +it more interesting than ever to Wildrake, who therefore determined not to lose +the opportunity for obtaining possession of the secret that seemed to be +suspended on Cromwells lips; and that could only be through means of keeping +guard upon his own. +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of a house is Woodstock?” said the General, abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“An old mansion,” said Wildrake, in reply; “and, so far as I +could judge by a single night’s lodgings, having abundance of backstairs, +also subterranean passages, and all the communications under ground, which are +common in old raven-nests of the sort.” +</p> + +<p> +“And places for concealing priests, unquestionably,” said Cromwell. +“It is seldom that such ancient houses lack secret stalls wherein to mew +up these calves of Bethel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Honour’s Excellency,” said Wildrake, “may swear +to that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I swear not at all,” replied the General, drily.—“But +what think’st thou, good fellow?—I will ask thee a blunt +question—Where will those two Worcester fugitives that thou wottest of be +more likely to take shelter—and that they must be sheltered somewhere I +well know—than, in this same old palace, with all the corners and +concealment whereof young Albert hath been acquainted ever since his earliest +infancy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly,” said Wildrake, making an effort to answer the question +with seeming indifference, while the possibility of such an event, and its +consequences, flashed fearfully upon his mind,—“Truly, I should be +of your honour’s opinion, but that I think the company, who, by the +commission of Parliament, have occupied Woodstock, are likely to fright them +thence, as a cat scares doves from a pigeon-house. The neighbourhood, with +reverence, of Generals Desborough and Harrison, will suit ill with fugitives +from Worcester field.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought as much, and so, indeed, would I have it,” answered the +General. “Long may it be ere our names shall be aught but a terror to our +enemies. But in this matter, if thou art an active plotter for thy +master’s interest, thou might’st, I should think, work out +something favourable to his present object.” +</p> + +<p> +“My brain is too poor to reach the depth of your honourable +purpose,” said Wildrake. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, then, and let it be to profit,” answered Cromwell. +“Assuredly the conquest at Worcester was a great and crowning mercy; yet +might we seem to be but small in our thankfulness for the same, did we not do +what in us lies towards the ultimate improvement and final conclusion of the +great work which has been thus prosperous in our hands, professing, in pure +humility and singleness of heart, that we do not, in any way, deserve our +instrumentality to be remembered, nay, would rather pray and entreat, that our +name and fortunes were forgotten, than that the great work were in itself +incomplete. Nevertheless, truly, placed as we now are, it concerns us more +nearly than others,—that is, if so poor creatures should at all speak of +themselves as concerned, whether more or less, with these changes which have +been wrought around,—not, I say, by ourselves, or our own power, but by +the destiny to which we were called, fulfilling the same with all meekness and +humility,—I say it concerns us nearly that all things should be done in +conformity with the great work which hath been wrought, and is yet working, in +these lands. Such is my plain and simple meaning. Nevertheless, it is much to +be desired that this young man, this King of Scots, as he called +himself—this Charles Stewart—should not escape forth from the +nation, where his arrival has wrought so much disturbance and bloodshed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt,” said the cavalier, looking down, “that +your lordship’s wisdom hath directed all things as they may best lead +towards such a consummation; and I pray your pains may be paid as they +deserve.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank thee, friend,” said Cromwell, with much humility; +“doubtless we shall meet our reward, being in the hands of a good +paymaster, who never passeth Saturday night. But understand me, friend—I +desire no more than my own share in the good work. I would heartily do what +poor kindness I can to your worthy master, and even to you in your +degree—for such as I do not converse with ordinary men, that our presence +may be forgotten like an every-day’s occurrence. We speak to men like +thee for their reward or their punishment; and I trust it will be the former +which thou in thine office wilt merit at my hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your honour,” said Wildrake, “speaks like one accustomed to +command.” +</p> + +<p> +“True; men’s minds are likened to those of my degree by fear and +reverence,” said the General;—“but enough of that, desiring, +as I do, no other dependency on my special person than is alike to us all upon +that which is above us. But I would desire to cast this golden ball into your +master’s lap. He hath served against this Charles Stewart and his father. +But he is a kinsman near to the old knight Lee, and stands well affected +towards his daughter. <i>Thou</i> also wilt keep a watch, my friend—that +ruffling look of thine will procure thee the confidence of every malignant, and +the prey cannot approach this cover, as though to shelter, like a coney in the +rocks, but thou wilt be sensible of his presence.” +</p> + +<p> +“I make a shift to comprehend your Excellency,” said the cavalier; +“and I thank you heartily for the good opinion you have put upon me, and +which, I pray I may have some handsome opportunity of deserving, that I may +show my gratitude by the event. But still, with reverence, your +Excellency’s scheme seems unlikely, while Woodstock remains in possession +of the sequestrators. Both the old knight and his son, and far more such a +fugitive as your honor hinted at, will take special care not to approach it +till they are removed.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is for that I have been dealing with thee thus long,” said the +General.—“I told thee that I was something unwilling, upon slight +occasion, to dispossess the sequestrators by my own proper warrant, although +having, perhaps, sufficient authority in the state both to do so, and to +despise the murmurs of those who blame me. In brief, I would be both to tamper +with my privileges, and make experiments between their strength, and the powers +of the commission granted by others, without pressing need, or at least great +prospect of advantage. So, if thy Colonel will undertake, for his love of the +Republic, to find the means of preventing its worst and nearest danger, which +must needs occur from the escape of this young Man, and will do his endeavour +to stay him, in case his flight should lead him to Woodstock, which I hold very +likely, I will give thee an order to these sequestrators, to evacuate the +palace instantly; and to the next troop of my regiment, which lies at Oxford, +to turn them out by the shoulders, if they make any scruples—Ay, even, +for example’s sake, if they drag Desborough out foremost, though he be +wedded to my sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“So please you, sir,” said Wildrake, “and with your most +powerful warrant, I trust I might expel the commissioners, even without the aid +of your most warlike and devout troopers.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I am least anxious about,” replied the General; +“I should like to see the best of them sit after I had nodded to them to +begone— always excepting the worshipful House, in whose name our +commissions run; but who, as some think, will be done with politics ere it be +time to renew them. Therefore, what chiefly concerns me to know, is, whether +thy master will embrace a traffic which hath such a fair promise of profit with +it. I am well convinced that, with a scout like thee, who hast been in the +cavaliers’ quarters, and canst, I should guess, resume thy drinking, +ruffianly, health-quaffing manners whenever thou hast a mind, he must discover +where this Stewart hath ensconced himself. Either the young Lee will visit the +old one in person, or he will write to him, or hold communication with him by +letter. At all events, Markham Everard and thou must have an eye in every hair +of your head.” While he spoke, a flush passed over his brow, he rose from +his chair, and paced the apartment in agitation. “Woe to you, if you +suffer the young adventurer to escape me!—you had better be in the +deepest dungeon in Europe, than breathe the air of England, should you but +dream of playing me false. I have spoken freely to thee, fellow—more +freely than is my wont—the time required it. But, to share my confidence +is like keeping a watch over a powder-magazine, the least and most +insignificant spark blows thee to ashes. Tell your master what I said—but +not how I said it—Fie, that I should have been betrayed into this +distemperature of passion!— begone, sirrah. Pearson shall bring thee +sealed orders—Yet, stay—thou hast something to ask.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would know,” said Wildrake, to whom the visible anxiety of the +General gave some confidence, “what is the figure of this young gallant, +in case I should find him?” +</p> + +<p> +“A tall, rawboned, swarthy lad, they say he has shot up into. Here is his +picture by a good hand, some time since.” He turned round one of the +portraits which stood with its face against the wall; but it proved not to be +that of Charles the Second, but of his unhappy father. +</p> + +<p> +The first motion of Cromwell indicated a purpose of hastily replacing the +picture, and it seemed as if an effort were necessary to repress his +disinclination to look upon it. But he did repress it, and, placing the picture +against the wall, withdrew slowly and sternly, as if, in defiance of his own +feelings, he was determined to gain a place from which to see it to advantage. +It was well for Wildrake that his dangerous companion had not turned an eye on +him, for <i>his</i> blood also kindled when he saw the portrait of his master +in the hands of the chief author of his death. Being a fierce and desperate +man, he commanded his passion with great difficulty; and if, on its first +violence, he had been provided with a suitable weapon, it is possible Cromwell +would never have ascended higher in his bold ascent towards supreme power. +</p> + +<p> +But this natural and sudden flash of indignation, which rushed through the +veins of an ordinary man like Wildrake, was presently subdued, when confronted +with the strong yet stifled emotion displayed by so powerful a character as +Cromwell. As the cavalier looked on his dark and bold countenance, agitated by +inward and indescribable feelings, he found his own violence of spirit die away +and lose itself in fear and wonder. So true it is, that as greater lights +swallow up and extinguish the display of those which are less, so men of great, +capacious, and overruling minds, bear aside and subdue, in their climax of +passion, the more feeble wills and passions of others; as, when a river joins a +brook, the fiercer torrent shoulders aside the smaller stream. +</p> + +<p> +Wildrake stood a silent, inactive, and almost a terrified spectator, while +Cromwell, assuming a firm sternness of eye and manner, as one who compels +himself to look on what some strong internal feeling renders painful and +disgustful to him, proceeded, in brief and interrupted expressions, but yet +with a firm voice, to comment on the portrait of the late King. His words +seemed less addressed to Wildrake, than to be the spontaneous unburdening of +his own bosom, swelling under recollection of the past and anticipation of the +future. +</p> + +<p> +“That Flemish painter” he said—“that Antonio +Vandyck—what a power he has! Steel may mutilate, warriors may waste and +destroy—still the King stands uninjured by time; and our grandchildren, +while they read his history, may look on his image, and compare the melancholy +features with the woful tale.—It was a stern necessity—it was an +awful deed! The calm pride of that eye might have ruled worlds of crouching +Frenchmen, or supple Italians, or formal Spaniards; but its glances only roused +the native courage of the stern Englishman.—Lay not on poor sinful man, +whose breath is in, his nostrils, the blame that he falls, when Heaven never +gave him strength of nerves to stand! The weak rider is thrown by his unruly +horse, and trampled to death—the strongest man, the best cavalier, +springs to the empty saddle, and uses bit and spur till the fiery steed knows +its master. Who blames him, who, mounted aloft, rides triumphantly amongst the +people, for having succeeded, where the unskilful and feeble fell and died? +Verily he hath his reward: Then, what is that piece of painted canvas to me +more than others? No; let him show to others the reproaches of that cold, calm +face, that proud yet complaining eye: Those who have acted on higher respects +have no cause to start at painted shadows. Not wealth nor power brought me from +my obscurity. The oppressed consciences, the injured liberties of England, were +the banner that I followed.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his voice so high, as if pleading in his own defence before some +tribunal, that Pearson, the officer in attendance, looked into the apartment; +and observing his master, with his eyes kindling, his arm extended, his foot +advanced, and his voice raised, like a general in the act of commanding the +advance of his army, he instantly withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +“It was other than selfish regards that drew me forth to action,” +continued Cromwell, “and I dare the world—ay, living or dead I +challenge—to assert that I armed for a private cause, or as a means of +enlarging my fortunes. Neither was there a trooper in the regiment who came +there with less of personal ill will to yonder unhappy”— +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the door of the apartment opened, and a gentlewoman entered, +who, from her resemblance to the General, although her features were soft and +feminine, might be immediately recognised as his daughter. She walked up to +Cromwell, gently but firmly passed her arm through his, and said to him in a +persuasive tone, “Father, this is not well—you have promised me +this should not happen.” +</p> + +<p> +The General hung down his head, like one who was either ashamed of the passion +to which he had given way, or of the influence which was exercised over him. He +yielded, however, to the affectionate impulse, and left the apartment, without +again turning his head towards the portrait which had so much affected him, or +looking towards Wildrake, who remained fixed in astonishment. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER THE NINTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +<i>Doctor</i>.—Go to, go to,—You have known what you should +not. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +M<small>ACBETH</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Wildrake was left in the cabinet, as we have said, astonished and alone. It was +often noised about, that Cromwell, the deep and sagacious statesman, the calm +and intrepid commander, he who had overcome such difficulties, and ascended to +such heights, that he seemed already to bestride the land which he had +conquered, had, like many other men of great genius, a constitutional taint of +melancholy, which sometimes displayed itself both in words and actions, and had +been first observed in that sudden and striking change, when, abandoning +entirely the dissolute freaks of his youth, he embraced a very strict course of +religious observances, which, upon some occasions, he seemed to consider as +bringing him into more near and close contact with the spiritual world. This +extraordinary man is said sometimes, during that period of his life, to have +given way to spiritual delusions, or, as he himself conceived them, prophetic +inspirations of approaching grandeur, and of strange, deep, and mysterious +agencies, in which he was in future to be engaged, in the same manner as his +younger years had been marked by fits of exuberant and excessive frolic and +debaucheries. Something of this kind seemed to explain the ebullition of +passion which he had now manifested. +</p> + +<p> +With wonder at what he had witnessed, Wildrake felt some anxiety on his own +account. Though not the most reflecting of mortals, he had sense enough to +know, that it is dangerous to be a witness of the infirmities of men high in +power; and he was left so long by himself, as induced him to entertain some +secret doubts, whether the General might not be tempted to take means of +confining or removing a witness, who had seen him lowered, as it seemed, by the +suggestions of his own conscience, beneath that lofty flight, which, in +general, he affected to sustain above the rest of the sublunary world. +</p> + +<p> +In this, however, he wronged Cromwell, who was free either from an extreme +degree of jealous suspicion, or from any thing which approached towards +blood-thirstiness. Pearson appeared, after a lapse of about an hour, and, +intimating to Wildrake that he was to follow, conducted him into a distant +apartment, in which he found the General seated on a couch. His daughter was in +the apartment, but remained at some distance, apparently busied with some +female needle-work, and scarce turned her head as Pearson and Wildrake entered. +</p> + +<p> +At a sign from the Lord-General, Wildrake approached him as before. +“Comrade,” he said, “your old friends the cavaliers look on +me as their enemy, and conduct themselves towards me as if they desired to make +me such. I profess they are labouring to their own prejudice; for I regard, and +have ever regarded them, as honest and honourable fools, who were silly enough +to run their necks into nooses and their heads against stonewalls, that a man +called Stewart, and no other, should be king over them. Fools! are there no +words made of letters that would sound as well as Charles Stewart, with that +magic title beside them? Why, the word King is like a lighted lamp, that throws +the same bright gilding upon any combination of the alphabet, and yet you must +shed your blood for a name! But thou, for thy part, shalt have no wrong from +me. Here is an order, well warranted, to clear the Lodge at Woodstock, and +abandon it to thy master’s keeping, or those whom he shall appoint. He +will have his uncle and pretty cousin with him, doubtless. Fare thee +well—think on what I told thee. They say beauty is a loadstone to yonder +long lad thou dost wot of; but I reckon he has other stars at present to direct +his course than bright eyes and fair hair. Be it as it may, thou knowst my +purpose—peer out, peer out; keep a constant and careful look-out on every +ragged patch that wanders by hedge-row or lane—these are days when a +beggar’s cloak may cover a king’s ransom. There are some broad +Portugal pieces for thee—something strange to thy pouch, I +ween.—Once more, think on what thou hast heard, and,” he added, in +a lower and more impressive tone of voice, “forget what thou hast seen. +My service to thy master;—and, yet once again, <i>remember</i>—and +<i>forget</i>.”—Wildrake made his obeisance, and, returning to his +inn, left Windsor with all possible speed. +</p> + +<p> +It was afternoon in the same day when the cavalier rejoined his round-head +friend, who was anxiously expecting him at the inn in Woodstock appointed for +their rendezvous. +</p> + +<p> +“Where hast thou been?—what hast thou seen?—what strange +uncertainty is in thy looks?—and why dost thou not answer me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” said Wildrake, laying aside his riding cloak and rapier, +“you ask so many questions at once. A man has but one tongue to answer +with, and mine is well-nigh glued to the roof of my mouth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will drink unloosen it?” said the Colonel; “though I dare +say thou hast tried that spell at every ale-house on the road. Call for what +thou wouldst have, man, only be quick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Everard,” answered Wildrake, “I have not tasted so +much as a cup of cold water this day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then thou art out of humour for that reason,” said the Colonel; +“salve thy sore with brandy, if thou wilt, but leave being so fantastic +and unlike to thyself, as thou showest in this silent mood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Everard,” replied the cavalier, very gravely, “I am +an altered man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think thou dost alter,” said Everard, “every day in the +year, and every hour of the day. Come, good now, tell me, hast thou seen the +General, and got his warrant for clearing out the sequestrators from +Woodstock?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen the devil,” said Wildrake, “and have, as thou +say’st, got a warrant from him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give it me hastily,” said Everard, catching at the packet. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me, Mark,” said Wildrake; “if thou knewest the +purpose with which this deed is granted—if thou knewest—what it is +not my purpose to tell thee—what manner of hopes are founded on thy +accepting it, I have that opinion of thee, Mark Everard, that thou wouldst as +soon take a red-hot horse-shoe from the anvil with thy bare hand, as receive +into it this slip of paper.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come,” said Everard, “this comes of some of your +exalted ideas of loyalty, which, excellent within certain bounds, drive us mad +when encouraged up to some heights. Do not think, since I must needs speak +plainly with thee, that I see without sorrow the downfall of our ancient +monarchy, and the substitution of another form of government in its stead; but +ought my regret for the past to prevent my acquiescing and aiding in such +measures as are likely to settle the future? The royal cause is ruined, hadst +thou and every cavalier in England sworn the contrary; ruined, not to rise +again—for many a day at least. The Parliament, so often draughted and +drained of those who were courageous enough to maintain their own freedom of +opinion, is now reduced to a handful of statesmen, who have lost the respect of +the people, from the length of time during which they have held the supreme +management of affairs. They cannot stand long unless they were to reduce the +army; and the army, late servants, are now masters, and will refuse to be +reduced. They know their strength, and that they may be an army subsisting on +pay and free quarters throughout England as long as they will. I tell thee, +Wildrake, unless we look to the only man who can rule and manage them, we may +expect military law throughout the land; and I, for mine own part, look for any +preservation of our privileges that may be vouchsafed to us, only through the +wisdom and forbearance of Cromwell. Now you have my secret. You are aware that +I am not doing the best I would, but the best I can. I wish—not so +ardently as thou, perhaps—yet I <i>do</i> wish that the King could have +been restored on good terms of composition, safe for us and for himself. And +now, good Wildrake, rebel as thou thinkest me, make me no worse a rebel than an +unwilling one. God knows, I never laid aside love and reverence to the King, +even in drawing my sword against his ill advisers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, plague on you,” said Wildrake, “that is the very cant of +it—that’s what you all say. All of you fought against the King in +pure love and loyalty, and not otherwise. However, I see your drift, and I own +that I like it better than I expected. The army is your bear now, and old Noll +is your bearward; and you are like a country constable, who makes interest with +the bearward that he may prevent him from letting bruin loose. Well, there may +come a day when the sun will shine on our side of the fence, and thereon shall +you, and all the good fair-weather folks who love the stronger party, come and +make common cause with us.” +</p> + +<p> +Without much attending to what his friend said, Colonel Everard carefully +studied the warrant of Cromwell. “It is bolder and more peremptory than I +expected,” he said. “The General must feel himself strong, when he +opposes his own authority so directly to that of the Council of State and the +Parliament.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will not hesitate to act upon it?” said Wildrake. +</p> + +<p> +“That I certainly will not,” answered Everard; “but I must +wait till I have the assistance of the Mayor, who, I think, will gladly see +these fellows ejected from the Lodge. I must not go altogether upon military +authority, if possible.” Then, stepping to the door of the apartment, he +despatched a servant of the house in quest of the Chief Magistrate, desiring he +should be made acquainted that Colonel Everard desired to see him with as +little loss of time as possible. +</p> + +<p> +“You are sure he will come, like a dog at a whistle,” said +Wildrake. “The word captain, or colonel, makes the fat citizen trot in +these days, when one sword is worth fifty corporation charters. But there are +dragoons yonder, as well as the grim-faced knave whom I frightened the other +evening when I showed my face in at the window. Think’st thou the knaves +will show no rough play?” +</p> + +<p> +“The General’s warrant will weigh more with them than a dozen acts +of Parliament,” said Everard.—“But it is time thou eatest, if +thou hast in truth ridden from Windsor hither without baiting.” +</p> + +<p> +“I care not about it,” said Wildrake: “I tell thee, your +General gave me a breakfast, which, I think, will serve me one while, if I am +ever able to digest it. By the mass, it lay so heavy on my conscience, that I +carried it to church to see if I could digest it there with my other sins. But +not a whit.” +</p> + +<p> +“To church!—to the door of the church, thou meanest,” said +Everard. “I know thy way—thou art ever wont to pull thy hat off +reverently at the threshold; but for crossing it, that day seldom comes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied Wildrake, “and if I do pull off my castor and +kneel, is it not seemly to show the same respects in a church which we offer in +a palace? It is a dainty matter, is it not, to see your Anabaptists, and +Brownists, and the rest of you, gather to a sermon with as little ceremony as +hogs to a trough! But here comes food, and now for a grace, if I can remember +one.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard was too much interested about the fate of his uncle and his fair +cousin, and the prospect of restoring them to their quiet home, under the +protection of that formidable truncheon which was already regarded as the +leading-staff of England, to remark, that certainly a great alteration had +taken place in the manners and outward behaviour at least of his companion. His +demeanour frequently evinced a sort of struggle betwixt old habits of +indulgence, and some newly formed resolutions of abstinence; and it was almost +ludicrous to see how often the hand of the neophyte directed itself naturally +to a large black leathern jack, which contained two double flagons of strong +ale, and how often, diverted from its purpose by the better reflections of the +reformed toper, it seized, instead, upon a large ewer of salubrious and pure +water. +</p> + +<p> +It was not difficult to see that the task of sobriety was not yet become easy, +and that, if it had the recommendation of the intellectual portion of the party +who had resolved upon it, the outward man yielded a reluctant and restive +compliance. But honest Wildrake had been dreadfully frightened at the course +proposed to him by Cromwell, and, with a feeling not peculiar to the Catholic +religion, had formed a solemn resolution within his own mind, that, if he came +off safe and with honour from this dangerous interview, he would show his sense +of Heaven’s favour, by renouncing some of the sins which most easily +beset him, and especially that of intemperance, to which, like many of his wild +compeers, he was too much addicted. +</p> + +<p> +This resolution, or vow, was partly prudential as well as religious; for it +occurred to him as very possible, that some matters of a difficult and delicate +nature might be thrown into his hands at the present emergency, during the +conduct of which it would be fitting for him to act by some better oracle than +that of the Bottle, celebrated by Rabelais. In full compliance with this +prudent determination, he touched neither the ale nor the brandy which were +placed before him, and declined peremptorily the sack with which his friend +would have garnished the board. Nevertheless, just as the boy removed the +trenchers and napkins, together with the large black-jack which we have already +mentioned, and was one or two steps on his way to the door, the sinewy arm of +the cavalier, which seemed to elongate itself on purpose, (as it extended far +beyond the folds of the threadbare jacket,) arrested the progress of the +retiring Ganymede, and seizing on the black-jack, conveyed it to the lips, +which were gently breathing forth the aspiration, “D—n—I +mean. Heaven forgive me—we are poor creatures of clay—one modest +sip must be permitted to our frailty.” +</p> + +<p> +So murmuring, he glued the huge flagon to his lips, and as the head was slowly +and gradually inclined backwards, in proportion as the right hand elevated the +bottom of the pitcher, Everard had great doubts whether the drinker and the cup +were likely to part until the whole contents of the latter had been transferred +to the person of the former. Roger Wildrake stinted, however, when, by a +moderate computation, he had swallowed at one draught about a quart and a half. +</p> + +<p> +He then replaced it on the salver, fetched a long breath to refresh his lungs, +bade the boy get him gone with the rest of the liquors, in a tone which +inferred some dread of his constancy, and then, turning to his friend Everard, +he expatiated in praise of moderation, observing, that the mouthful which he +had just taken had been of more service to him than if he had remained quaffing +healths at table for four hours together. +</p> + +<p> +His friend made no reply, but could not help being privately of opinion that +Wildrake’s temperance had done as much execution on the tankard in his +single draught, as some more moderate topers might have effected if they had +sat sipping for an evening. But the subject was changed by the entrance of the +landlord, who came to announce to his honour Colonel Everard, that the +worshipful Mayor of Woodstock, with the Rev. Master Holdenough, were come to +wait upon him. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER THE TENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + Here we have one head<br/> +Upon two bodies,—your two-headed bullock<br/> +Is but an ass to such a prodigy.<br/> +These two have but one meaning, thought, and counsel:<br/> +And when the single noddle has spoke out,<br/> +The four legs scrape assent to it. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +O<small>LD</small> P<small>LAY</small>. +</p> + +<p> +In the goodly form of the honest Mayor, there was a bustling mixture of +importance and embarrassment, like the deportment of a man who was conscious +that he had an important part to act, if he could but exactly discover what +that part was. But both were mingled with much pleasure at seeing Everard, and +he frequently repeated his welcomes and all-hails before he could be brought to +attend to what that gentleman said in reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Good, worthy Colonel, you are indeed a desirable sight to Woodstock at +all times, being, as I may say, almost our townsman, as you have dwelt so much +and so long at the palace. Truly, the matter begins almost to pass my wit, +though I have transacted the affairs of this borough for many a long day; and +you are come to my assistance like, like”— +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Tanquam Deus ex machina</i>, as the Ethnic poet hath it,” said +Master Holdenough, “although I do not often quote from such +books.—Indeed, Master Markham Everard,—or worthy Colonel, as I +ought rather to say—you are simply the most welcome man who has come to +Woodstock since the days of old King Harry.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had some business with you, my good friend,” said the Colonel, +addressing the Mayor; “I shall be glad if it should so happen at the same +time, that I may find occasion to pleasure you or your worthy pastor.” +</p> + +<p> +“No question you can do so, good sir;” interposed Master +Holdenough; “you have the heart, sir, and you have the hand; and we are +much in want of good counsel, and that from a man of action. I am aware, worthy +Colonel, that you and your worthy father have ever borne yourselves in these +turmoils like men of a truly Christian and moderate spirit, striving to pour +oil into the wounds of the land, which some would rub with vitriol and pepper: +and we know you are faithful children of that church which we have reformed +from its papistical and prelatical tenets.” +</p> + +<p> +“My good and reverend friend,” said Everard, “I respect the +piety and learning of many of your teachers; but I am also for liberty of +conscience to all men. I neither side with sectaries, nor do I desire to see +them the object of suppression by violence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, sir,” said the Presbyterian, hastily, “all this hath a +fair sound; but I would you should think what a fine country and church we are +like to have of it, amidst the errors, blasphemies, and schisms, which are +daily introduced into the church and kingdom of England, so that worthy Master +Edwards, in his Gangrena, declareth, that our native country is about to become +the very sink and cess-pool of all schisms, heresies, blasphemies, and +confusions, as the army of Hannibal was said to be the refuse of all +nations—<i>Colluvies omnium gentium</i>.—Believe me, worthy +Colonel, that they of the Honourable House view all this over lightly, and with +the winking connivance of old Eli. These instructors, the schismatics, shoulder +the orthodox ministers out of their pulpits, thrust themselves into families, +and break up the peace thereof, stealing away men’s hearts from the +established faith.” +</p> + +<p> +“My good Master Holdenough,” replied the Colonel, interrupting the +zealous preacher, “there is ground of sorrow for all these unhappy +discords; and I hold with you, that the fiery spirits of the present time have +raised men’s minds at once above sober-minded and sincere religion, and +above decorum and common sense. But there is no help save patience. Enthusiasm +is a stream that may foam off in its own time, whereas it is sure to bear down +every barrier which is directly opposed to it.—But what are these +schismatical proceedings to our present purpose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, partly this, sir,” said Holdenough, “although perhaps +you may make less of it than I should have thought before we met.—I was +myself—I, Nehemiah Holdenough, (he added consequentially,) was forcibly +expelled from my own pulpit, even as a man should have been thrust out of his +own house, by an alien, and an intruder—a wolf, who was not at the +trouble even to put on sheep’s clothing, but came in his native wolfish +attire of buff and bandalier, and held forth in my stead to the people, who are +to me as a flock to the lawful shepherd. It is too true, sir—Master Mayor +saw it, and strove to take such order to prevent it as man might, +though,” turning to the Mayor, “I think still you might have +striven a little more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good now, good Master Holdenough, do not let us go back on that +question,” said the Mayor. “Guy of Warwick, or Bevis of Hampton, +might do something with this generation; but truly, they are too many and too +strong for the Mayor of Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think Master Mayor speaks very good sense,” said the Colonel; +“if the Independents are not allowed to preach, I fear me they will not +fight;—and then if you were to have another rising of cavaliers?” +</p> + +<p> +“There are worse folks may rise than cavaliers,” said Holdenough. +</p> + +<p> +“How, sir?” replied Colonel Everard. “Let me remind you, +Master Holdenough, that is no safe language in the present state of the +nation.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said the Presbyterian, “there are worse folk may +rise than cavaliers; and I will prove what I say. The devil is worse than the +worst cavalier that ever drank a health, or swore an oath—and the devil +has arisen at Woodstock Lodge!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, truly hath he,” said the Mayor, “bodily and visibly, in +figure and form—An awful time we live in!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen, I really know not how I am to understand you,” said +Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it was even about the devil we came to speak with you,” said +the Mayor; “but the worthy minister is always so hot upon the +sectaries”— +</p> + +<p> +“Which are the devil’s brats, and nearly akin to him,” said +Master Holdenough. “But true it is, that the growth of these sects has +brought up the Evil One even upon the face of the earth, to look after his own +interest, where he finds it most thriving.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Holdenough,” said the Colonel, “if you speak +figuratively, I have already told you that I have neither the means nor the +skill sufficient to temper these religious heats. But if you design to say that +there has been an actual apparition of the devil, I presume to think that you, +with your doctrine and your learning, would be a fitter match for him than a +soldier like me.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, sir; and I have that confidence in the commission which I hold, +that I would take the field against the foul fiend without a moment’s +delay,” said Holdenough; “but the place in which he hath of late +appeared, being Woodstock, is filled with those dangerous and impious persons, +of whom I have been but now complaining; and though, confident in my own +resources, I dare venture in disputation with their Great Master himself; yet +without your protection, most worthy Colonel, I see not that I may with +prudence trust myself with the tossing and goring ox Desborough, or the bloody +and devouring bear Harrison, or the cold and poisonous snake Bletson—all +of whom are now at the Lodge, doing license and taking spoil as they think +meet; and, as all men say, the devil hath come to make a fourth with +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“In good truth, worthy and noble sir,” said the Mayor, “it is +even as Master Holdenough says—our privileges are declared void, our +cattle seized in the very pastures. They talk of cutting down and disparking +the fair Chase, which has been so long the pleasure of so many kings, and +making Woodstock of as little note as any paltry village. I assure you we heard +of your arrival with joy, and wondered at your keeping yourself so close in +your lodgings. We know no one save your father or you, that are like to stand +the poor burgesses’ friend in this extremity, since almost all the gentry +around are malignants, and under sequestration. We trust, therefore, you will +make strong intercession in our behalf.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, Master Mayor,” said the Colonel, who saw himself with +pleasure anticipated; “it was my very purpose to have interfered in this +matter; and I did but keep myself alone until I should be furnished with some +authority from the Lord-General.” +</p> + +<p> +“Powers from the Lord-General!” said the Mayor, thrusting the +clergy-man with his elbow—“Dost thou hear that?—What cock +will fight that cock?— We shall carry it now over their necks, and +Woodstock shall be brave Woodstock still!” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep thine elbow from my side, friend,” said Holdenough, annoyed +by the action which the Mayor had suited to his words; “and may the Lord +send that Cromwell prove not as sharp to the people of England as thy bones +against my person! Yet I approve that we should use his authority to stop the +course of these men’s proceedings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us set out, then,” said Colonel Everard; “and I trust we +shall find the gentlemen reasonable and obedient.” +</p> + +<p> +The functionaries, laic and clerical, assented with much joy; and the Colonel +required and received Wildrake’s assistance in putting on his cloak and +rapier, as if he had been the dependent whose part he acted. The cavalier +contrived, however, while doing him these menial offices, to give his friend a +shrewd pinch, in order to maintain the footing of secret equality betwixt them. +</p> + +<p> +The Colonel was saluted, as they passed through the streets, by many of the +anxious inhabitants, who seemed to consider his intervention as affording the +only chance of saving their fine Park, and the rights of the corporation, as +well as of individuals, from ruin and confiscation. +</p> + +<p> +As they entered the Park, the Colonel asked his companions, “What is this +you say of apparitions being seen amongst them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Colonel,” said the clergyman, “you know yourself that +Woodstock was always haunted?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have lived therein many a day,” said the Colonel; “and I +know I never saw the least sign of it, although idle people spoke of the house +as they do of all old mansions, and gave the apartments ghosts and spectres to +fill up the places of as many of the deceased great, as had ever dwelt +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, but, good Colonel,” said the clergyman, “I trust you +have not reached the prevailing sin of the times, and become indifferent to the +testimony in favour of apparitions, which appears so conclusive to all but +atheists, and advocates for witches?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not absolutely disbelieve what is so generally affirmed,” +said the Colonel; “but my reason leads me to doubt most of the stories +which I have heard of this sort, and my own experience never went to confirm +any of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, but trust me,” said Holdenough, “there was always a +demon of one or the other species about this Woodstock. Not a man or woman in +the town but has heard stories of apparitions in the forest, or about the old +castle. Sometimes it is a pack of hounds, that sweep along, and the whoops and +halloos of the huntsmen, and the winding of horns and the galloping of horse, +which is heard as if first more distant, and then close around you—and +then anon it is a solitary huntsman, who asks if you can tell him which way the +stag has gone. He is always dressed in green; but the fashion of his clothes is +some five hundred years old. This is what we call Demon Meridianum—the +noon-day spectre.” +</p> + +<p> +“My worthy and reverend sir,” said the Colonel, “I have lived +at Woodstock many seasons, and have traversed the Chase at all hours. Trust me, +what you hear from the villagers is the growth of their idle folly and +superstition.” +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel,” replied Holdenough, “a negative proves nothing. +What signifies, craving your pardon, that you have not seen anything, be it +earthly or be it of the other world, to detract from the evidence of a score of +people who have?—And besides, there is the Demon Nocturnum— the +being that walketh by night; he has been among these Independents and +schismatics last night. Ay, Colonel, you may stare; but it is even +so—they may try whether he will mend their gifts, as they profanely call +them, of exposition and prayer. No, sir, I trow, to master the foul fiend there +goeth some competent knowledge of theology, and an acquaintance of the humane +letters, ay, and a regular clerical education and clerical calling.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not in the least doubt,” said the Colonel, “the +efficacy of your qualifications to lay the devil; but still I think some odd +mistake has occasioned this confusion amongst them, if there has any such in +reality existed. Desborough is a blockhead, to be sure; and Harrison is fanatic +enough to believe anything. But there is Bletson, on the other hand, who +believes nothing.—What do you know of this matter, good Master +Mayor?” +</p> + +<p> +“In sooth, and it was Master Bletson who gave the first alarm,” +replied the magistrate; “or, at least, the first distinct one. You see, +sir, I was in bed with my wife, and no one else; and I was as fast asleep as a +man can desire to be at two hours after midnight, when, behold you, they came +knocking at my bedroom door, to tell me there was an alarm in Woodstock, and +that the bell of the Lodge was ringing at that dead hour of the night as hard +as ever it rung when it called the court to dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, but the cause of this alarm?” said the Colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall hear, worthy Colonel, you shall hear,” answered the +Mayor, waving his hand with dignity; for he was one of those persons who will +not be hurried out of their own pace. “So Mrs. Mayor would have persuaded +me, in her love and affection, poor wretch, that to rise at such an hour out of +my own warm bed, was like to bring on my old complaint the lumbago, and that I +should send the people to Alderman Dutton.—Alderman Devil, Mrs. Mayor, +said I;—I beg your reverence’s pardon for using such a +phrase—Do you think I am going to lie a-bed when the town is on fire, and +the cavaliers up, and the devil to pay;—I beg pardon again, +parson.—But here we are before the gate of the Palace; will it not please +you to enter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would first hear the end of your story,” said the Colonel; +“that is, Master Mayor, if it happens to have an end.” +</p> + +<p> +“Every thing hath an end,” said the Mayor, “and that which we +call a pudding hath two.—Your worship will forgive me for being +facetious. Where was I?—Oh, I jumped out of bed, and put on my red plush +breeches, with the blue nether stocks, for I always make a point of being +dressed suitably to my dignity, night and day, summer or winter, Colonel +Everard; and I took the Constable along with me, in case the alarm should be +raised by night-walkers or thieves, and called up worthy Master Holdenough out +of his bed, in case it should turn out to be the devil. And so I thought I was +provided for the worst, and so away we came; and, by and by, the soldiers who +came to the town with Master Tomkins, who had been called to arms, came +marching down to Woodstock as fast as their feet would carry them; so I gave +our people the sign to let them pass us, and out-march us, as it were, and this +for a twofold reason.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will be satisfied,” interrupted the Colonel, “with one +good reason. You desired the red-coats should have the <i>first</i> of the +fray?” +</p> + +<p> +“True, sir, very true;—and also that they should have the +<i>last</i> of it, in respect that fighting is their especial business. +However, we came on at a slow pace, as men who are determined to do their duty +without fear or favour, when suddenly we saw something white haste away up the +avenue towards the town, when six of our constables and assistants fled at +once, as conceiving it to be an apparition called the White Woman of +Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look you there, Colonel,” said Master Holdenough, “I told +you there were demons of more kinds than one, which haunt the ancient scenes of +royal debauchery and cruelty.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you stood your own ground, Master Mayor?” said the Colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“I—yes—most assuredly—that is, I did not, strictly +speaking, keep my ground; but the town-clerk and I retreated—retreated, +Colonel, and without confusion or dishonour, and took post behind worthy Master +Holdenough, who, with the spirit of a lion, threw himself in the way of the +supposed spectre, and attacked it with such a siserary of Latin as might have +scared the devil himself, and thereby plainly discovered that it was no devil +at all, nor white woman, neither woman of any colour, but worshipful Master +Bletson, a member of the House of Commons, and one of the commissioners sent +hither upon this unhappy sequestration of the Wood, Chase, and Lodge of +Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“And this was all you saw of the demon?” said the Colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, yes,” answered the Mayor; “and I had no wish to see +more. However, we conveyed Master Bletson, as in duty bound, back to the Lodge, +and he was ever maundering by the way how that he met a party of scarlet devils +incarnate marching down to the Lodge; but, to my poor thinking, it must have +been the Independent dragoons who had just passed us.” +</p> + +<p> +“And more incarnate devils I would never wish to see,” said +Wildrake, who could remain silent no longer. His voice, so suddenly heard, +showed how much the Mayor’s nerves were still alarmed, far he started and +jumped aside with an alacrity of which no one would at first sight suppose a +man of his portly dignity to have been capable. Everard imposed silence on his +intrusive attendant; and, desirous to hear the conclusion of this strange +story, requested the Mayor to tell him how the matter ended, and whether they +stopped the supposed spectre. +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, worthy sir,” said the Mayor, “Master Holdenough was +quite venturous upon confronting, as it were, the devil, and compelling him to +appear under the real form of Master Joshua Bletson, member of Parliament for +the borough of Littlefaith.” +</p> + +<p> +“In sooth, Master Mayor,” said the divine, “I were strangely +ignorant of my own commission and its immunities, if I were to value opposing +myself to Satan, or any Independent in his likeness, all of whom, in the name +of Him I serve, I do defy, spit at, and trample under my feet; and because +Master Mayor is something tedious, I will briefly inform your honour that we +saw little of the Enemy that night, save what Master Bletson said in the first +feeling of his terrors, and save what we might collect from the disordered +appearance of the Honourable Colonel Desborough and Major-General +Harrison.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what plight were they in, I pray you?” demanded the Colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, worthy sir, every one might see with half an eye that they had been +engaged in a fight wherein they had not been honoured with perfect victory; +seeing that General Harrison was stalking up and down the parlour, with his +drawn sword in his hand, talking to himself, his doublet unbuttoned, his points +untrussed, his garters loose, and like to throw him down as he now and then +trode on them, and gaping and grinning like a mad player. And yonder sate +Desborough with a dry pottle of sack before him, which he had just emptied, and +which, though the element in which he trusted, had not restored him sense +enough to speak, or courage enough to look over his shoulder. He had a Bible in +his hand, forsooth, as if it would of itself make battle against the Evil One; +but I peered over his shoulder, and, alas! the good gentleman held the bottom +of the page uppermost. It was as if one of your musketeers, noble and valued +sir, were to present the butt of his piece at the enemy instead of the +muzzle—ha, ha, ha! it was a sight to judge of schismatics by; both in +point of head, and in point of heart, in point of skill, and in point of +courage. Oh! Colonel, then was the time to see the true character of an +authorised pastor of souls over those unhappy men, who leap into the fold +without due and legal authority, and will, forsooth, preach, teach, and exhort, +and blasphemously term the doctrine of the Church saltless porridge and dry +chips!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt you were ready to meet the danger, reverend sir; but I +would fain know of what nature it was, and from whence it was to be +apprehended?” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it for me to make such inquiry?” said the clergyman, +triumphantly. “Is it for a brave soldier to number his enemies, or +inquire from what quarter they are to come? No, sir, I was there with match +lighted, bullet in my mouth, and my harquebuss shouldered, to encounter as many +devils as hell could pour in, were they countless as motes in the sunbeam, and +although they came from all points of the compass. The Papists talk of the +temptation of St. Anthony—pshaw! let them double all the myriads which +the brain of a crazy Dutch painter hath invented, and you will find a poor +Presbyterian divine—I will answer for one at least,—who, not in his +own strength, but his Master’s, will receive the assault in such sort, +that far from returning against him as against yonder poor hound, day after +day, and night after night, he will at once pack them off as with a vengeance +to the uttermost parts of Assyria!” +</p> + +<p> +“Still,” said the Colonel, “I pray to know whether you saw +anything upon which to exercise your pious learning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Saw?” answered the divine; “no, truly, I saw nothing, nor +did I look for anything. Thieves will not attack well-armed travellers, nor +will devils or evil spirits come against one who bears in his bosom the word of +truth, in the very language in which it was first dictated. No, sir, they shun +a divine who can understand the holy text, as a crow is said to keep wide of a +gun loaded with hailshot.” +</p> + +<p> +They had walked a little way back upon their road, to give time for this +conversation; and the Colonel, perceiving it was about to lead to no +satisfactory explanation of the real cause of alarm on the preceding night, +turned round, and observing it was time they should go to the Lodge, began to +move in that direction with his three companions. +</p> + +<p> +It had now become dark, and the towers of Woodstock arose high above the +umbrageous shroud which the forest spread around the ancient and venerable +mansion. From one of the highest turrets, which could still be distinguished as +it rose against the clear blue sky, there gleamed a light like that of a candle +within the building. The Mayor stopt short, and catching fast hold of the +divine, and then of Colonel Everard, exclaimed, in a trembling and hasty, but +suppressed tone, +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see yonder light?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, marry do I,” said Colonel Everard; “and what does that +matter?—a light in a garret-room of such an old mansion as Woodstock is +no subject of wonder, I trow.” +</p> + +<p> +“But a light from Rosamond’s Tower is surely so,” said the +Mayor. +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said the Colonel, something surprised, when, after a +careful examination, he satisfied himself that the worthy magistrate’s +conjecture was right. “That is indeed Rosamond’s Tower; and as the +drawbridge, by which it was accessible has been destroyed for centuries, it is +hard to say what chance could have lighted a lamp in such an inaccessible +place.” +</p> + +<p> +“That light burns with no earthly fuel,” said the Mayor; +“neither from whale nor olive oil, nor bees-wax, nor mutton-suet either. +I dealt in these commodities, Colonel, before I went into my present line; and +I can assure you I could distinguish the sort of light they give, one from +another, at a greater distance than yonder turret—Look you, that is no +earthly flame.—See you not something blue and reddish upon the +edges?— that bodes full well where it comes from.—Colonel, in my +opinion we had better go back to sup at the town, and leave the Devil and the +red-coats to settle their matters together for to-night; and then when we come +back the next morning, we will have a pull with the party that chances to keep +a-field.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will do as you please, Master Mayor,” said Everard, “but +my duty requires me that I should see the Commissioners to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“And mine requires me to see the foul Fiend,” said Master +Holdenough, “if he dare make himself visible to me. I wonder not that, +knowing who is approaching, he betakes himself to the very citadel, the inner +and the last defences of this ancient and haunted mansion. He is dainty, I +warrant you, and must dwell where is a relish of luxury and murder about the +walls of his chamber. In yonder turret sinned Rosamond, and in yonder turret +she suffered; and there she sits, or more likely, the Enemy in her shape, as I +have heard true men of Woodstock tell. I wait on you, good Colonel—Master +Mayor will do as he pleases. The strong man hath fortified himself in his +dwelling-house, but lo, there cometh another stronger than he.” +</p> + +<p> +“For me,” said the Mayor, “who am as unlearned as I am +unwarlike, I will not engage either—with the Powers of the Earth, or the +Prince of the Powers of the Air, and I would we were again at +Woodstock;—and hark ye, good fellow,” slapping Wildrake on the +shoulder, “I will bestow on thee a shilling wet and a shilling dry if +thou wilt go back with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gadzookers, Master Mayor,” said, Wildrake, neither flattered by +the magistrate’s familiarity of address, nor captivated by his +munificence— “I wonder who the devil made you and me fellows? and, +besides, do you think I would go back to Woodstock with your worshipful +cods-head, when, by good management, I may get a peep of fair Rosamond, and see +whether she was that choice and incomparable piece of ware, which the world has +been told of by rhymers and ballad-makers?” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak less lightly and wantonly, friend,” said the divine; +“we are to resist the devil that he may flee from us, and not to tamper +with him, or enter into his counsels, or traffic with the merchandise of his +great Vanity Fair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mind what the good man says, Wildrake,” said the Colonel; +“and take heed another time how thou dost suffer thy wit to outrun +discretion.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am beholden to the reverend gentleman for his advice,” answered +Wildrake, upon whose tongue it was difficult to impose any curb whatever, even +when his own safety rendered it most desirable. “But, gadzookers, let him +have had what experience he will in fighting with the Devil, he never saw one +so black as I had a tussle with—not a hundred years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“How, friend,” said the clergyman, who understood every thing +literally when apparitions were mentioned, “have you had so late a +visitation of Satan? Believe me, then, that I wonder why thou darest to +entertain his name so often and so lightly, as I see thou dost use it in thy +ordinary discourse. But when and where didst thou see the Evil One?” +</p> + +<p> +Everard hastily interposed, lest by something yet more strongly alluding to +Cromwell, his imprudent squire should, in mere wantonness, betray his interview +with the General. “The young man raves,” he said, “of a dream +which he had the other night, when he and I slept together in Victor +Lee’s chamber, belonging to the Ranger’s apartments at the +Lodge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks for help at a pinch, good patron,” said Wildrake, +whispering into Everard’s ear, who in vain endeavoured to shake him +off,—“a fib never failed a fanatic.” +</p> + +<p> +“You, also, spoke something too lightly of these matters, considering the +work which we have in hand, worthy Colonel,” said the Presbyterian +divine. “Believe me, the young man, thy servant, was more likely to see +visions than to dream merely idle dreams in that apartment; for I have always +heard, that, next to Rosamond’s Tower, in which, as I said, she played +the wanton, and was afterwards poisoned by Queen Eleanor, Victor Lee’s +chamber was the place in the Lodge of Woodstock more peculiarly the haunt of +evil spirits.—I pray you, young man, tell me this dream or vision of +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“With all my heart, sir,” said Wildrake—then addressing his +patron, who began to interfere, he said, “Tush, sir, you have had the +discourse for an hour, and why should not I hold forth in my turn? By this +darkness, if you keep me silent any longer, I will turn Independent preacher, +and stand up in your despite for the freedom of private judgment.—And so, +reverend sir, I was dreaming of a carnal divertisement called a bull-baiting; +and methought they were venturing dogs at head, as merrily as e’er I saw +them at Tutbury bull-running; and methought I heard some one say, there was the +Devil come to have a sight of the bull-ring. Well, I thought that, gadswoons, I +would have a peep at his Infernal Majesty. So I looked, and there was a butcher +in greasy woollen, with his steel by his side; but he was none of the Devil. +And there was a drunken cavalier, with his mouth full of oaths, and his stomach +full of emptiness, and a gold-laced waistcoat in a very dilapidated condition, +and a ragged hat,—with a piece of a feather in it; and he was none of the +Devil neither. And here was a miller, his hands dusty with meal, and every atom +of it stolen; and there was a vintner, his green apron stained with wine, and +every drop of it sophisticated; but neither was the old gentleman I looked for +to be detected among these artisans of iniquity. At length, sir, I saw a grave +person with cropped hair, a pair of longish and projecting ears, a band as +broad as a slobbering bib under his chin, a brown coat surmounted by a Geneva +cloak, and I had old Nicholas at once in his genuine paraphernalia, +by—.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shame, shame!” said Colonel Everard. “What! behave thus to +an old gentleman and a divine!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, let him proceed,” said the minister, with perfect equanimity: +“if thy friend, or secretary, is gibing, I must have less patience than +becomes my profession, if I could not bear an idle jest, and forgive him who +makes it. Or if, on the other hand, the Enemy has really presented himself to +the young man in such a guise as he intimates, wherefore should we be surprised +that he, who can take upon him the form of an angel of light, should be able to +assume that of a frail and peaceable mortal, whose spiritual calling and +profession ought, indeed, to induce him to make his life an example to others; +but whose conduct, nevertheless, such is the imperfection of our unassisted +nature, sometimes rather presents us with a warning of what we should +shun?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, by the mass, honest domine—I mean reverend sir—I crave +you a thousand pardons,” said Wildrake, penetrated by the quietness and +patience of the presbyter’s rebuke. “By St. George, if quiet +patience will do it, thou art fit to play a game at foils with the Devil +himself, and I would be contented to hold stakes.” +</p> + +<p> +As he concluded an apology, which was certainly not uncalled for, and seemed to +be received in perfectly good part, they approached so close to the exterior +door of the Lodge, that they were challenged with the emphatic <i>Stand</i>, by +a sentinel who mounted guard there. Colonel Everard replied, <i>A friend</i>; +and the sentinel repeating his command, “Stand, friend,” proceeded +to call the corporal of the guard. The corporal came forth, and at the same +time turned out his guard. Colonel Everard gave his name and designation, as +well as those of his companions, on which the corporal said, “he doubted +not there would be orders for his instant admission; but, in the first place, +Master Tomkins must be consulted, that he might learn their honours’ +mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“How, sir!” said the Colonel, “do you, knowing who I am, +presume to keep me on the outside of your post?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if your honour pleases to enter,” said the corporal, +“and undertakes to be my warranty; but such are the orders of my +post.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, then, do your duty,” said the Colonel; “but are the +cavaliers up, or what is the matter, that you keep so close and strict a +watch?” +</p> + +<p> +The fellow gave no distinct answer, but muttered between his mustaches +something about the Enemy, and the roaring Lion who goeth about seeking whom he +may devour. Presently afterwards Tomkins appeared, followed by two servants, +bearing lights in great standing brass candlesticks. They marched before +Colonel Everard and his party, keeping as close to each other as two cloves of +the same orange, and starting from time to time; and shuddering as they passed +through sundry intricate passages, they led up a large and ample wooden +staircase, the banisters, rail, and lining of which were executed in black oak, +and finally into a long saloon, or parlour, where there was a prodigious fire, +and about twelve candles of the largest size distributed in sconces against the +wall. There were seated the Commissioners, who now held in their power the +ancient mansion and royal domain of Woodstock. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The bloody bear, an independent beast,<br/> +Unlick’d to forms, in groans his hate express’d—<br/> + * * *<br/> +Next him the buffoon ape, as atheists use,<br/> +Mimick’d all sects, and had his own to choose. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +H<small>IND AND</small> P<small>ANTHER</small>. +</p> + +<p> +The strong light in the parlour which we have described, served to enable +Everard easily to recognise his acquaintances, Desborough, Harrison, and +Bletson, who had assembled round an oak table of large dimensions, placed near +the blazing chimney, on which were arranged wine, and ale, and materials for +smoking, then the general indulgence of the time. There was a species of +movable cupboard set betwixt the table and the door, calculated originally for +a display of plate upon grand occasions, but at present only used as a screen; +which purpose it served so effectually, that, ere he had coasted around it, +Everard heard the following fragment of what Desborough was saying, in his +strong coarse voice:—“Sent him to share with us, I’se warrant +ye—It was always his Excellency my brother-in-law’s way—if he +made a treat for five friends, he would invite more than the table could +hold—I have known him ask three men to eat two eggs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, hush,” said Bletson; and the servants, making their +appearance from behind the tall cupboard, announced Colonel Everard. It may not +be uninteresting to the reader to have a description, of the party into which +he now entered. +</p> + +<p> +Desborough was a stout, bull-necked man, of middle-size, with heavy vulgar +features, grizzled bushy eyebrows, and walleyes. The flourish of his powerful +relative’s fortunes had burst forth in the finery of his dress, which was +much more ornamented than was usual among the roundheads. There was embroidery +on his cloak, and lace upon his band; his hat displayed a feather with a golden +clasp, and all his habiliments were those of a cavalier, or follower of the +court, rather than the plain dress of a parliamentarian officer. But, Heaven +knows, there was little of courtlike grace or dignity in the person or +demeanour of the individual, who became his fine suit as the hog on the +sign-post does his gilded armour. It was not that he was positively deformed, +or misshaped, for, taken in detail, the figure was well enough. But his limbs +seemed to act upon different and contradictory principles. They were not, as +the play says, in a concatenation accordingly;—the right hand moved as if +it were upon bad terms with the left, and the legs showed an inclination to +foot it in different and opposite directions. In short, to use an extravagant +comparison, the members of Colonel Desborough seemed rather to resemble the +disputatious representatives of a federative congress, than the well-ordered +union of the orders of the state, in a firm and well-compacted monarchy, where +each holds his own place, and all obey the dictates of a common head. +</p> + +<p> +General Harrison, the second of the Commissioners, was a tall, thin, +middle-aged man, who had risen into his high situation in the army, and his +intimacy with Cromwell, by his dauntless courage in the field, and the +popularity he had acquired by his exalted enthusiasm amongst the military +saints, sectaries, and Independents, who composed the strength of the existing +army. Harrison was of mean extraction, and bred up to his father’s +employment of a butcher. Nevertheless, his appearance, though coarse, was not +vulgar, like that of Desborough, who had so much the advantage of him in birth +and education. He had a masculine height and strength of figure, was well made +and in his manner announced a rough military character, which might be feared, +but could not easily become the object of contempt or ridicule. His aquiline +nose and dark black eyes set off to some advantage a countenance otherwise +irregular, and the wild enthusiasm that sometimes sparkled in them as he +dilated on his opinions to others, and often seemed to slumber under his long +dark eyelashes as he mused upon them himself, gave something strikingly wild, +and even noble to his aspect. He was one of the chief leaders of those who were +called Fifth-Monarchy men, who, going even beyond the general fanaticism of the +age, presumptuously interpreted the Book of the Revelations after their own +fancies, considered that the second Advent of the Messiah, and the Millenium, +or reign of the Saints upon earth, was close at hand, and that they themselves, +illuminated, as they believed, with the power of foreseeing these approaching +events, were the chosen instruments for the establishment of the New Reign, or +Fifth Monarchy, as it was called, and were fated also to win its honours, +whether celestial or terrestrial. +</p> + +<p> +When this spirit of enthusiasm, which operated like a partial insanity, was not +immediately affecting Harrison’s mind, he was a shrewd worldly man, and a +good soldier; one who missed no opportunity of mending his fortune, and who, in +expecting the exaltation of the Fifth Monarchy, was, in the meanwhile, a ready +instrument for the establishment of the Lord-General’s supremacy. Whether +it was owing to his early occupation, and habits of indifference to pain or +bloodshed acquired in the shambles, to natural disposition and want of feeling, +or, finally, to the awakened character of his enthusiasm, which made him look +upon those who opposed him, as opposing the Divine will, and therefore meriting +no favour or mercy, is not easy to say; but all agreed, that after a victory, +or the successful storm of a town, Harrison was one of the most cruel and +pitiless men in Cromwell’s army; always urging some misapplied text to +authorize the continued execution of the fugitives, and sometimes even putting +to death those who had surrendered themselves prisoners. It was said, that at +times the recollection of some of those cruelties troubled his conscience, and +disturbed the dreams of beatification in which his imagination indulged. +</p> + +<p> +When Everard entered the apartment, this true representative of the fanatic +soldiers of the day, who filled those ranks and regiments which Cromwell had +politically kept on foot, while he procured the reduction of those in which the +Presbyterian interest predominated, was seated a little apart from the others, +his legs crossed, and stretched out at length towards the fire, his head +resting on his elbow, and turned upwards, as if studying, with the most +profound gravity, the half-seen carving of the Gothic roof. +</p> + +<p> +Bletson remains to be mentioned, who, in person and figure, was diametrically +different from the other two. There was neither foppery nor slovenliness in his +exterior, nor had he any marks of military service or rank about his person. A +small walking rapier seemed merely worn as a badge of his rank as a gentleman, +without his hand having the least purpose of becoming acquainted with the hilt, +or his eye with the blade. His countenance was thin and acute, marked with +lines which thought rather than age had traced upon it; and a habitual sneer on +his countenance, even, when he least wished to express contempt on his +features, seemed to assure the individual addressed, that in Bletson he +conversed with a person of intellect far superior to his own. This was a +triumph of intellect only, however; for on all occasions of difference +respecting speculative opinions, and indeed on all controversies whatsoever, +Bletson avoided the ultimate <i>ratio</i> of blows and knocks. +</p> + +<p> +Yet this peaceful gentleman had found himself obliged to serve personally in +the Parliamentary army at the commencement of the Civil War, till happening +unluckily to come in contact with the fiery Prince Rupert, his retreat was +judged so precipitate, that it required all the shelter that his friends could +afford, to keep him free of an impeachment or a court-martial. But as Bletson +spoke well, and with great effect in the House of Commons, which was his +natural sphere, and was on that account high in the estimation of his party, +his behaviour at Edgehill was passed over, and he continued to take an active +share in all the political events of that bustling period, though he faced not +again the actual front of war. +</p> + +<p> +Bletson’s theoretical politics had long inclined him to espouse the +opinions of Harrington and others, who adopted the visionary idea of +establishing a pure democratical republic in so extensive a country as Britain. +This was a rash theory, where there is such an infinite difference betwixt +ranks, habits, education, and morals—where there is such an immense +disproportion betwixt the wealth of individuals—and where a large portion +of the inhabitants consist of the inferior classes of the large towns and +manufacturing districts—men unfitted to bear that share in the direction +of a state, which must be exercised by the members of a republic in the proper +sense of the word. Accordingly, as soon as the experiment was made, it became +obvious that no such form of government could be adopted with the smallest +chance of stability; and the question came only to be, whether the remnant, or, +as it was vulgarly called, the Rump of the Long Parliament, now reduced by the +seclusion of so many of the members to a few scores of persons, should +continue, in spite of their unpopularity, to rule the affairs of Britain? +Whether they should cast all loose by dissolving themselves, and issuing writs +to convoke a new Parliament, the composition of which no one could answer for, +any more than for the measures they might take when assembled? Or lastly, +whether Cromwell, as actually happened, was not to throw the sword into the +balance, and boldly possess himself of that power which the remnant of the +Parliament were unable to hold, and yet afraid to resign? +</p> + +<p> +Such being the state of parties, the Council of State, in distributing the good +things in their gift, endeavoured to soothe and gratify the army, as a beggar +flings crusts to a growling mastiff. In this view Desborough had been created a +Commissioner in the Woodstock matter to gratify Cromwell, Harrison to soothe +the fierce Fifth-Monarchy men, and Bletson as a sincere republican, and one of +their own leaven. +</p> + +<p> +But if they supposed Bletson had the least intention of becoming a martyr to +his republicanism, or submitting to any serious loss on account of it, they +much mistook the man. He entertained their principles sincerely and not the +less that they were found impracticable; for the miscarriage of his experiment +no more converts the political speculator, than the explosion of a retort +undeceives an alchymist. But Bletson was quite prepared to submit to Cromwell, +or any one else who might be possessed of the actual authority. He was a ready +subject in practice to the powers existing, and made little difference betwixt +various kinds of government, holding in theory all to be nearly equal in +imperfection, so soon as they diverged from the model of Harrington’s +Oceana. Cromwell had already been tampering with him, like wax between his +finger and thumb, and which he was ready shortly to seal with, smiling at the +same time to himself when he beheld the Council of State giving rewards to +Bletson, as their faithful adherent, while he himself was secure of his +allegiance, how soon soever the expected change of government should take +place. +</p> + +<p> +But Bletson was still more attached to his metaphysical than his political +creed, and carried his doctrines of the perfectibility of mankind as far as he +did those respecting the conceivable perfection of a model of government; and +as in the one case he declared against all power which did not emanate from the +people themselves, so, in his moral speculations, he was unwilling to refer any +of the phenomena of nature to a final cause. When pushed, indeed, very hard, +Bletson was compelled to mutter some inarticulate and unintelligible doctrines +concerning an <i>Animus Mundi</i>, or Creative Power in the works of Nature, by +which she originally called into existence, and still continues to preserve, +her works. To this power, he said, some of the purest metaphysicians rendered a +certain degree of homage; nor was he himself inclined absolutely to censure +those, who, by the institution of holydays, choral dances, songs, and harmless +feasts and libations, might be disposed to celebrate the great goddess Nature; +at least dancing, singing, feasting, and sporting, being conformable things to +both young and old, they might as well sport, dance, and feast, in honour of +such appointed holydays, as under any other pretext. But then this moderate +show of religion was to be practised under such exceptions as are admitted by +the Highgate oath; and no one was to be compelled to dance, drink, sing, or +feast, whose taste did not happen to incline them to such divertisements; nor +was any one to be obliged to worship the creative power, whether under the name +of the <i>Animus Mundi</i>, or any other whatsoever. The interference of the +Deity in the affairs of mankind he entirely disowned, having proved to his own +satisfaction that the idea originated entirely in priestcraft. In short, with +the shadowy metaphysical exception aforesaid, Mr. Joshua Bletson of Darlington, +member for Littlefaith, came as near the predicament of an atheist, as it is +perhaps possible for a man to do. But we say this with the necessary salvo; for +we have known many like Bletson, whose curtains have been shrewdly shaken by +superstition, though their fears were unsanctioned by any religious faith. The +devils, we are assured, believe and tremble; but on earth there are many, who, +in worse plight than even the natural children of perdition, tremble without +believing, and fear even while they blaspheme. +</p> + +<p> +It follows, of course, that nothing could be treated with more scorn by Mr. +Bletson, than the debates about Prelacy and Presbytery, about Presbytery and +Independency, about Quakers and Anabaptists, Muggletonians and Brownists, and +all the various sects with which the Civil War had commenced, and by which its +dissensions were still continued. “It was,” he said, “as if +beasts of burden should quarrel amongst themselves about the fashion of their +halters and pack-saddles, instead of embracing a favourable opportunity of +throwing them aside.” Other witty and pithy remarks he used to make when +time and place suited; for instance, at the club called the Rota, frequented by +St. John, and established by Harrington, for the free discussion of political +and religious subjects. +</p> + +<p> +But when Bletson was out of this academy, or stronghold of philosophy, he was +very cautious how he carried his contempt of the general prejudice in favour of +religion and Christianity further than an implied objection or a sneer. If he +had an opportunity of talking in private with an ingenuous and intelligent +youth, he sometimes attempted to make a proselyte, and showed much address in +bribing the vanity of inexperience, by suggesting that a mind like his ought to +spurn the prejudices impressed upon it in childhood; and when assuming the +<i>latus clavus</i> of reason, assuring him that such as he, laying aside the +<i>bulla</i> of juvenile incapacity, as Bletson called it, should proceed to +examine and decide for himself. It frequently happened, that the youth was +induced to adopt the doctrines in whole, or in part, of the sage who had seen +his natural genius, and who had urged him to exert it in examining, detecting, +and declaring for himself, and thus flattery gave proselytes to infidelity, +which could not have been gained by all the powerful eloquence or artful +sophistry of the infidel. +</p> + +<p> +These attempts to extend the influence of what was called freethinking and +philosophy, were carried on, as we have hinted, with a caution dictated by the +timidity of the philosopher’s disposition. He was conscious his doctrines +were suspected, and his proceedings watched, by the two principal sects of +Prelatists and Presbyterians, who, however inimical to each other, were still +more hostile to one who was an opponent, not only to a church establishment of +any kind, but to every denomination of Christianity. He found it more easy to +shroud himself among the Independents, whose demands were for a general liberty +of conscience, or an unlimited toleration, and whose faith, differing in all +respects and particulars, was by some pushed into such wild errors, as to get +totally beyond the bounds of every species of Christianity, and approach very +near to infidelity itself, as extremes of each kind are said to approach each +other. Bletson mixed a good deal among those sectaries; and such was his +confidence in his own logic and address, that he is supposed to have +entertained hopes of bringing to his opinions in time the enthusiastic Vane, as +well as the no less enthusiastic Harrison, provided he could but get them to +resign their visions of a Fifth Monarchy, and induce them to be contented with +a reign of Philosophers in England for the natural period of their lives, +instead of the reign of the Saints during the Millenium. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the singular group into which Everard was now introduced; showing, in +their various opinions, upon how many devious coasts human nature may make +shipwreck, when she has once let go her hold on the anchor which religion has +given her to lean upon; the acute self-conceit and worldly learning of +Bletson—the rash and ignorant conclusions of the fierce and under-bred +Harrison, leading them into the opposite extremes of enthusiasm and infidelity, +while Desborough, constitutionally stupid, thought nothing about religion at +all; and while the others were active in making sail on different but equally +erroneous courses, he might be said to perish like a vessel, which springs a +leak and founders in the roadstead. It was wonderful to behold what a strange +variety of mistakes and errors, on the part of the King and his Ministers, on +the part of the Parliament and their leaders, on the part of the allied +kingdoms of Scotland and England towards each other, had combined to rear up +men of such dangerous opinions and interested characters among the arbiters of +the destiny of Britain. +</p> + +<p> +Those who argue for party’s sake, will see all the faults on the one +side, without deigning to look at those on the other; those who study history +for instruction, will perceive that nothing but the want of concession on +either side, and the deadly height to which the animosity of the King’s +and Parliament’s parties had arisen, could have so totally overthrown the +well-poised balance of the English constitution. But we hasten to quit +political reflections, the rather that ours, we believe, will please neither +Whig nor Tory. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Three form a College—an you give us four,<br/> +Let him bring his share with him. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +B<small>EAUMONT AND</small> F<small>LETCHER</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bletson arose and paid his respects to Colonel Everard, with the ease and +courtesy of a gentleman of the time; though on every account grieved at his +intrusion, as a religious man who held his free-thinking principles in +detestation, and would effectually prevent his conversion of Harrison, and even +of Desborough, if any thing could be moulded out of such a clod, to the worship +of the <i>Animus Mundi</i>. Moreover, Bletson knew Everard to be a man of +steady probity, and by no means disposed to close with a scheme on which he had +successfully sounded the other two, and which was calculated to assure the +Commissioners of some little private indemnification for the trouble they were +to give themselves in the public business. The philosopher was yet less +pleased, when he saw the magistrate the pastor who had met him in his flight of +the preceding evening, when he had been seen, <i>parma non bene relicta</i>, +with cloak and doublet left behind him. +</p> + +<p> +The presence of Colonel Everard was as unpleasing to Desborough as to Bletson: +but the former having no philosophy in him, nor an idea that it was possible +for any man to resist helping himself out of untold money, was chiefly +embarrassed by the thought, that the plunder which they might be able to +achieve out of their trust, might, by this unwelcome addition to their number, +be divided into four parts instead of three; and this reflection added to the +natural awkwardness with which he grumbled forth a sort of welcome, addressed +to Everard. +</p> + +<p> +As for Harrison, he remained like one on higher thoughts intent; his posture +unmoved, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as before, and in no way indicating the +least consciousness that the company had been more than doubled around him. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, Everard took his place at the table, as a man who assumed his own +right, and pointed to his companions to sit down nearer the foot of the board. +Wildrake so far misunderstood his signals, as to sit down above the Mayor; but +rallying his recollection at a look from his patron, he rose and took his place +lower, whistling, however, as he went, a sound at which the company stared, as +at a freedom highly unbecoming. To complete his indecorum, he seized upon a +pipe, and filling it from a large tobacco-box, was soon immersed in a cloud of +his own raising; from which a hand shortly after emerged, seized on the +black-jack of ale, withdrew it within the vapoury sanctuary, and, after a +potential draught, replaced it upon the table, its owner beginning to renew the +cloud which his intermitted exercise of the tube had almost allowed to subside. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody made any observation on his conduct, out of respect, probably, to +Colonel Everard, who bit his lip, but continued silent; aware that censure +might extract some escapade more unequivocally characteristic of a cavalier, +from his refractory companion. As silence seemed awkward, and the others made +no advances to break it, beyond the ordinary salutation, Colonel Everard at +length said, “I presume, gentlemen, that you are somewhat surprised at my +arrival here, and thus intruding myself into your meeting?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why the dickens should we be surprised, Colonel?” said Desborough; +“we know his Excellency, my brother-in-law Noll’s—I mean my +Lord Cromwell’s way, of overquartering his men in the towns he marches +through. Thou hast obtained a share in our commission?” +</p> + +<p> +“And in that,” said Bletson, smiling and bowing, “the +Lord-General has given us the most acceptable colleague that could have been +added to our number. No doubt your authority for joining with us must be under +warrant of the Council of State?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of that, gentlemen,” said the Colonel, “I will presently +advise you.”—He took out his warrant accordingly, and was about to +communicate the contents; but observing that there were three or four +half-empty flasks upon the table, that Desborough looked more stupid than +usual, and that the philosopher’s eyes were reeling in his head, +notwithstanding the temperance of Bletson’s usual habits, he concluded +that they had been fortifying themselves against the horrors of the haunted +mansion, by laying in a store of what is called Dutch courage, and therefore +prudently resolved to postpone his more important business with them till the +cooler hour of morning. He, therefore, instead of presenting the +General’s warrant superseding their commission, contented himself with +replying,—“My business has, of course, some reference to your +proceedings here. But here is—excuse my curiosity—a reverend +gentleman,” pointing to Holdenough, “who has told me that you are +so strangely embarrassed here, as to require both the civil and spiritual +authority to enable you to keep possession of Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Before we go into that matter,” said Bletson, blushing up to the +eyes at the recollection of his own fears, so manifestly displayed, yet so +inconsistent with his principles, “I should like to know who this other +stranger is, who has come with the worthy magistrate, and the no less worthy +Presbyterian?” +</p> + +<p> +“Meaning me?” said Wildrake, laying his pipe aside; +“Gadzooks, the time hath been that I could have answered the question +with a better title; but at present I am only his honour’s poor clerk, or +secretary, whichever is the current phrase.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Fore George, my lively blade, thou art a frank fellow of thy +tattle,” said Desborough. “There is my secretary Tomkins, whom men +sillily enough call Fibbet, and the honourable Lieutenant-General +Harrison’s secretary Bibbet, who are now at supper below stairs, that +durst not for their ears speak a phrase above their breath in the presence of +their betters, unless to answer a question.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Colonel Everard,” said the philosopher, with his quiet smile, +glad, apparently, to divert the conversation from the topic of last +night’s alarm, and recollections which humbled his self-love and +self-satisfaction,—“yes; and when Master Fibbet and Master Bibbet +<i>do</i> speak, their affirmations are as much in a common mould of mutual +attestation, as their names would accord in the verses of a poet. If Master +Fibbet happens to tell a fiction, Master Bibbet swears it as truth. If Master +Bibbet chances to have gotten drunk in the fear of the Lord, Master Fibbet +swears he is sober. I have called my own secretary Gibbet, though his name +chances to be only Gibeon, a worthy Israelite at your service, but as pure a +youth as ever picked a lamb-bone at Paschal. But I call him Gibbet, merely to +make up the holy trefoil with another rhyme. This squire of thine, Colonel +Everard, looks as if he might be worthy to be coupled with the rest of the +fraternity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not I, truly,” said the cavalier; “I’ll be coupled +with no Jew that was ever whelped, and no Jewess neither.” +</p> + +<p> +“Scorn not for that, young man,” said the philosopher; “the +Jews are, in point of religion, the elder brethren, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Jews older than the Christians?” said Desborough, +“’fore George, they will have thee before the General Assembly, +Bletson, if thou venturest to say so.” +</p> + +<p> +Wildrake laughed without ceremony at the gross ignorance of Desborough, and was +joined by a sniggling response from behind the cupboard, which, when inquired +into, proved to be produced by the serving-men. These worthies, timorous as +their betters, when they were supposed to have left the room, had only +withdrawn to their present place of concealment. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, ye rogues,” said Bletson, angrily; “do you not know +your duty better?” +</p> + +<p> +“We beg your worthy honour’s pardon,” said one of the men, +“but we dared not go down stairs without a light.” +</p> + +<p> +“A light, ye cowardly poltroons?” said the philosopher; +“what—to show which of you looks palest when a rat +squeaks?—but take a candlestick and begone, you cowardly villains! the +devils you are so much afraid of must be but paltry kites, if they hawk at such +bats as you are.” +</p> + +<p> +The servants, without replying, took up one of the candlesticks, and prepared +to retreat, Trusty Tomkins at the head of the troop, when suddenly, as they +arrived at the door of the parlour, which had been left half open, it was shut +violently. The three terrified domestics tumbled back into the middle of the +room, as if a shot had been discharged in their face, and all who were at the +table started to their feet. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Everard was incapable of a moment’s fear, even if any thing +frightful had been seen; but he remained stationary, to see what his companions +would do, and to get at the bottom, if possible, of the cause of their alarm +upon an occasion so trifling. The philosopher seemed to think that <i>he</i> +was the person chiefly concerned to show manhood on the occasion. +</p> + +<p> +He walked to the door accordingly, murmuring at the cowardice of the servants; +but at such a snail’s pace, that it seemed he would most willingly have +been anticipated by any one whom his reproaches had roused to exertion. +“Cowardly blockheads!” he said at last, seizing hold of the handle +of the door, but without turning it effectually round— “dare you +not open a door?”—(still fumbling with the lock)—“dare +you not go down a stair-case without a light? Here, bring me the candle, you +cowardly villains!—By Heaven, something sighs on the outside!” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he let go the handle of the parlour door, and stepped back a pace +or two into the apartment, with cheeks as pale as the band he wore. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Deus adjutor meus</i>!” said the Presbyterian clergyman, rising +from his seat. “Give place, sir,” addressing Bletson; “it +would seem I know more of this matter than thou, and I bless Heaven I am armed +for the conflict.” +</p> + +<p> +Bold as a grenadier about to mount a breach, yet with the same belief in the +existence of a great danger to be encountered, as well as the same reliance in +the goodness of his cause, the worthy man stepped before the philosophical +Bletson, and taking a light from a sconce in one hand, quietly opened the door +with the other, and standing in the threshold, said, “Here is +nothing!” +</p> + +<p> +“And who expected to see any thing,” said Bletson, “excepting +those terrified oafs, who take fright at every puff of wind that whistles +through the passages of this old dungeon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mark you, Master Tomkins,” said one of the waiting-men in a +whisper to the steward,—“See how boldly the minister pressed +forward before all of them. Ah! Master Tomkins, our parson is the real +commissioned officer of the church—your lay-preachers are no better than +a parcel of club-men and volunteers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Follow me those who list,” said Master Holdenough, “or go +before me those who choose, I will walk through the habitable places of this +house before I leave it, and satisfy myself whether Satan hath really mingled +himself among these dreary dens of ancient wickedness, or whether, like the +wicked of whom holy David speaketh, we are afraid, and flee when no one +pursueth.” +</p> + +<p> +Harrison, who had heard these words, sprung from his seat, and drawing his +sword, exclaimed, “Were there as many fiends in the house as there are +hairs on my head, upon this cause I will charge them up to their very +trenches!” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he brandished his weapon, and pressed to the head of the column, +where he moved side by side with the minister. The Mayor of Woodstock next +joined the body, thinking himself safer perhaps in the company of his pastor; +and the whole train moved forward in close order, accompanied by the servants +bearing lights, to search the Lodge for some cause of that panic with which +they seemed to be suddenly seized. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, take me with you, my friends,” said Colonel Everard, who had +looked on in surprise, and was now about to follow the party, when Bletson laid +hold on his cloak, and begged him to remain. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, my good Colonel,” he said, affecting a courage which his +shaking voice belied, “here are only you and I and honest Desborough left +behind in garrison, while all the others are absent on a sally. We must not +hazard the whole troops in one sortie—that were unmilitary—Ha, ha, +ha!” +</p> + +<p> +“In the name of Heaven, what means all this?” said Everard. +“I heard a foolish tale about apparitions as I came this way, and now I +find you all half mad with fear, and cannot get a word of sense among so many +of you. Fie, Colonel Desborough—fie, Master Bletson—try to compose +yourselves, and let me know, in Heaven’s name, the cause of all this +disturbance. One would be apt to think your brains were turned.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so mine well may,” said Desborough, “ay, and overturned +too, since my bed last night was turned upside down, and I was placed for ten +minutes heels uppermost, and head downmost, like a bullock going to be +shod.” +</p> + +<p> +“What means this nonsense, Master Bletson?—Desborough must have had +the nightmare.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, faith, Colonel; the goblins, or whatever else they were, had been +favourable to honest Desborough, for they reposed the whole of his person on +that part of his body which—Hark, did you not hear something?—is +the central point of gravity, namely, his head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see any thing to alarm you?” said the Colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” said Bletson; “but we heard hellish noises, as all +our people did; and I, believing little of ghosts and apparitions, concluded +the cavaliers were taking us at advantage; so, remembering Rainsborough’s +fate, I e’en jumped the window, and ran to Woodstock, to call the +soldiers to the rescue of Harrison and Desborough.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did you not first go to see what the danger was?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, my good friend, you forget that I laid down my commission at the +time of the self-denying ordinance. It would have been quite inconsistent with +my duty as a Parliament-man to be brawling amidst a set of ruffians, without +any military authority. No—when the Parliament commanded me to sheath my +sword, Colonel, I have too much veneration for their authority to be found +again with it drawn in my hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the Parliament,” said Desborough, hastily, “did not +command you to use your heels when your hands could have saved a man from +choking. Odds dickens! you might have stopped when you saw my bed canted heels +uppermost, and me half stifled in the bed-clothes—you might, I say, have +stopped and lent a hand to put it to rights, instead of jumping out of the +window, like a new-shorn sheep, so soon as you had run across my room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, worshipful Master Desborough,” said Bletson, winking at +Everard, to show that he was playing on his thick-sculled colleague, “how +could I tell your particular mode of reposing?—there are many +tastes—I have known men who slept by choice on a slope or angle of +forty-five.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but did ever a man sleep standing on his head, except by +miracle?” said Desborough. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, as to miracles”—said the philosopher, confident in the +presence of Everard, besides that an opportunity of scoffing at religion really +in some degree diverted his fear—“I leave these out of the +question, seeing that the evidence on such subjects seems as little qualified +to carry conviction as a horse-hair to land a leviathan.” +</p> + +<p> +A loud clap of thunder, or a noise as formidable, rang through the Lodge as the +scoffer had ended, which struck him pale and motionless, and made Desborough +throw himself on his knees, and repeat exclamations and prayers in much admired +confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“There must be contrivance here,” exclaimed Everard; and snatching +one of the candles from a sconce, he rushed out of the apartment, little +heeding the entreaties of the philosopher, who, in the extremity of his +distress, conjured him by the <i>Animus Mundi</i> to remain to the assistance +of a distressed philosopher endangered by witches, and a Parliament-man +assaulted by ruffians. As for Desborough, he only gaped like a clown in a +pantomime; and, doubtful whether to follow or stop, his natural indolence +prevailed, and he sat still. +</p> + +<p> +When on the landing-place of the stairs, Everard paused a moment to consider +which was the best course to take. He heard the voices of men talking fast and +loud, like people who wish to drown their fears, in the lower story; and aware +that nothing could be discovered by those whose inquiries were conducted in a +manner so noisy, he resolved to proceed in a different direction, and examine +the second floor, which he had now gained. +</p> + +<p> +He had known every corner, both of the inhabited and uninhabited part of the +mansion, and availed himself of the candle to traverse two or three intricate +passages, which he was afraid he might not remember with sufficient accuracy. +This movement conveyed him to a sort of <i>oeil-de-boeuf</i>, an octagon +vestibule, or small hall, from which various rooms opened. Amongst these doors, +Everard selected that which led to a very long, narrow, and dilapidated +gallery, built in the time of Henry VIII., and which, running along the whole +south-west side of the building, communicated at different points with the rest +of the mansion. This he thought was likely to be the post occupied by those who +proposed to act the sprites upon the occasion; especially as its length and +shape gave him some idea that it was a spot where the bold thunder might in +many ways be imitated. +</p> + +<p> +Determined to ascertain the truth if possible, he placed his light on a table +in the vestibule, and applied himself to open the door into the gallery. At +this point he found himself strongly opposed either by a bolt drawn, or, as he +rather conceived, by somebody from within resisting his attempt. He was induced +to believe the latter, because the resistance slackened and was renewed, like +that of human strength, instead of presenting the permanent opposition of an +inanimate obstacle. Though Everard was a strong and active young man, he +exhausted his strength in the vain attempt to open the door; and having paused +to take breath, was about to renew his efforts with foot and shoulder, and to +call at the same time for assistance, when to his surprise, on again attempting +the door more gently, in order to ascertain if possible where the strength of +the opposing obstacle was situated, he found it gave way to a very slight +impulse, some impediment fell broken to the ground, and the door flew wide +open. The gust of wind, occasioned by the sudden opening of the door, blew out +the candle, and Everard was left in darkness, save where the moonshine, which +the long side-row of latticed windows dimmed, could imperfectly force its way +into the gallery, which lay in ghostly length before him. +</p> + +<p> +The melancholy and doubtful twilight was increased by a quantity of creeping +plants on the outside, which, since all had been neglected in these ancient +halls, now completely overgrown, had in some instances greatly diminished, and +in others almost quite choked up, the space of the lattices, extending between +the heavy stone shaftwork which divided the windows, both lengthways and +across. On the other side there were no windows at all, and the gallery had +been once hung round with paintings, chiefly portraits, by which that side of +the apartment had been adorned. Most of the pictures had been removed, yet the +empty frames of some, and the tattered remnants of others, were still visible +along the extent of the waste gallery; the look of which was so desolate, and +it appeared so well adapted for mischief, supposing there were enemies near +him, that Everard could not help pausing at the entrance, and recommending +himself to God, ere, drawing his sword, he advanced into the apartment, +treading as lightly as possible, and keeping in the shadow as much as he could. +</p> + +<p> +Markham Everard was by no means superstitious, but he had the usual credulity +of the times; and though he did not yield easily to tales of supernatural +visitations, yet he could not help thinking he was in the very situation, +where, if such things were ever permitted, they might be expected to take +place, while his own stealthy and ill-assured pace, his drawn weapon, and +extended arms, being the very attitude and action of doubt and suspicion, +tended to increase in his mind the gloomy feelings of which they are the usual +indications, and with which they are constantly associated. Under such +unpleasant impressions, and conscious of the neighbourhood of something +unfriendly, Colonel Everard had already advanced about half along the gallery, +when he heard some one sigh very near him, and a low soft voice pronounce his +name. +</p> + +<p> +“Here I am,” he replied, while his heart beat thick and short. +“Who calls on Markham Everard?” +</p> + +<p> +Another sigh was the only answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak,” said the Colonel, “whoever or whatsoever you are, +and tell with what intent and purpose you are lurking in these +apartments?” +</p> + +<p> +“With a better intent than yours,” returned the soft voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Than mine!” answered Everard in great surprise. “Who are you +that dare judge of my intents?” +</p> + +<p> +“What, or who are you, Markham Everard, who wander by moonlight through +these deserted halls of royalty, where none should be but those who mourn their +downfall, or are sworn to avenge it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is—and yet it cannot be,” said Everard; “yet it is, +and must be. Alice Lee, the devil or you speaks. Answer me, I conjure +you!—speak openly—on what dangerous scheme are you engaged? where +is your father? why are you here?—wherefore do you run so deadly a +venture?—Speak, I conjure you, Alice Lee!” +</p> + +<p> +“She whom you call on is at the distance of miles from this spot. What if +her Genius speaks when she is absent?—what if the soul of an ancestress +of hers and yours were now addressing you?—what if”— +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” answered Everard, “but what if the dearest of human +beings has caught a touch of her father’s enthusiasm?—what if she +is exposing her person to danger, her reputation to scandal, by traversing in +disguise and darkness a house filled with armed men? Speak to me, my fair +cousin, in your own person. I am furnished with powers to protect my uncle, Sir +Henry—to protect you too, dearest Alice, even against the consequences of +this visionary and wild attempt. Speak—I see where you are, and, with all +my respect, I cannot submit to be thus practised upon. Trust me—trust +your cousin Markham with your hand, and believe that he will die or place you +in honourable safety.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he exercised his eyes as keenly as possible to detect where the +speaker stood; and it seemed to him, that about three yards from him there was +a shadowy form, of which he could not discern even the outline, placed as it +was within the deep and prolonged shadow thrown by a space of wall intervening +betwixt two windows, upon that side of the room from which the light was +admitted. He endeavoured to calculate, as well as he could, the distance +betwixt himself and the object which he watched, under the impression, that if, +by even using a slight degree of compulsion, he could detach his beloved Alice +from the confederacy into which he supposed her father’s zeal for the +cause of royalty had engaged her, he would be rendering them both the most +essential favour. He could not indeed but conclude, that however successfully +the plot which he conceived to be in agitation had proceeded against the timid +Bletson, the stupid Desborough, and the crazy Harrison, there was little doubt +that at length their artifices must necessarily bring shame and danger on those +engaged in it. +</p> + +<p> +It must also be remembered, that Everard’s affection to his cousin, +although of the most respectful and devoted character, partook less of the +distant veneration which a lover of those days entertained for the lady whom he +worshipped with humble diffidence, than of the fond and familiar feelings which +a brother entertains towards a younger sister, whom he thinks himself entitled +to guide, advise, and even in some degree to control. So kindly and intimate +had been their intercourse, that he had little more hesitation in endeavouring +to arrest her progress in the dangerous course in which she seemed to be +engaged, even at the risk of giving her momentary offence, than he would have +had in snatching her from a torrent or conflagration, at the chance of hurting +her by the violence of his grasp. All this passed through his mind in the +course of a single minute; and he resolved at all events to detain her on the +spot, and compel, if possible, an explanation from her. +</p> + +<p> +With this purpose, Everard again conjured his cousin, in the name of Heaven, to +give up this idle and dangerous mummery; and lending an accurate ear to her +answer, endeavoured from the sound to calculate as nearly as possible the +distance between them. +</p> + +<p> +“I am not she for whom you take me,” said the voice; “and +dearer regards than aught connected with her life or death, bid me warn you to +keep aloof, and leave this place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not till I have convinced you of your childish folly,” said the +Colonel, springing forward, and endeavouring to catch hold of her who spoke to +him. But no female form was within his grasp. On the contrary, he was met by a +shock which could come from no woman’s arm, and which was rude enough to +stretch him on his back on the floor. At the same time he felt the point of a +sword at his throat, and his hands so completely mastered, that not the +slightest defence remained to him. +</p> + +<p> +“A cry for assistance,” said a voice near him, but not that which +he had hitherto heard, “will be stifled in your blood!—No harm is +meant you—be wise and be silent.” +</p> + +<p> +The fear of death, which Everard had often braved in the field of battle, +became more intense as he felt himself in the hands of unknown assassins, and +totally devoid of all means of defence. The sharp point of the sword pricked +his bare throat, and the foot of him who held it was upon his breast. He felt +as if a single thrust would put an end to life, and all the feverish joys and +sorrows which agitate us so strangely, and from which we are yet so reluctant +to part. Large drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead—his heart +throbbed, as if it would burst from its confinement in the bosom—he +experienced the agony which fear imposes on the brave man, acute in proportion +to that which pain inflicts when it subdues the robust and healthy. +</p> + +<p> +“Cousin Alice,”—he attempted to speak, and the sword’s +point pressed his throat yet more closely,—“Cousin, let me not be +murdered in a manner so fearful!” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you,” replied the voice, “that you speak to one who +is not here; but your life is not aimed at, provided you swear on your faith as +a Christian, and your honour as a gentleman, that you will conceal what has +happened, whether from the people below, or from any other person. On this +condition you may rise; and if you seek her, you will find Alice Lee at +Joceline’s cottage, in the forest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since I may not help myself otherwise,” said Everard, “I +swear, as I have a sense of religion and honour, I will say nothing of this +violence, nor make any search after those who are concerned in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“For that we care nothing,” said the voice. “Thou hast an +example how well thou mayst catch mischief on thy own part; but we are in case +to defy thee. Rise, and begone!” +</p> + +<p> +The foot, the sword’s-point, were withdrawn, and Everard was about to +start up hastily, when the voice, in the same softness of tone which +distinguished it at first, said, “No haste—cold and bare steel is +yet around thee. Now—now—now—(the words dying away as at a +distance)— thou art free. Be secret and be safe.” +</p> + +<p> +Markham Everard arose, and, in rising, embarrassed his feet with his own sword, +which he had dropped when springing forward, as he supposed, to lay hold of his +fair cousin. He snatched it up in haste, and as his hand clasped the hilt, his +courage, which had given way under the apprehension of instant death, began to +return; he considered, with almost his usual composure, what was to be done +next. Deeply affronted at the disgrace which he had sustained, he questioned +for an instant whether he ought to keep his extorted promise, or should not +rather summon assistance, and make haste to discover and seize those who had +been recently engaged in such violence on his person. But these persons, be +they who they would, had had his life in their power—he had pledged his +word in ransom of it—and what was more, he could not divest himself of +the idea that his beloved Alice was a confidant, at least, if not an actor, in +the confederacy which had thus baffled him. This prepossession determined his +conduct; for, though angry at supposing she must have been accessory to his +personal ill-treatment, he could not in any event think of an instant search +through the mansion, which might have compromised her safety, or that of his +uncle. “But I will to the hut,” he said—“I will +instantly to the hut, ascertain her share in this wild and dangerous +confederacy, and snatch her from ruin, if it be possible.” +</p> + +<p> +As, under the influence of the resolution which he had formed, Everard groped +his way through the gallery and regained the vestibule, he heard his name +called by the well-known voice of Wildrake. “What—ho!— +holloa!—Colonel Everard—Mark Everard—it is dark as the +devil’s mouth—speak—where are you?—The witches are +keeping their hellish sabbath here, as I think.—Where are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, here!” answered Everard. “Cease your bawling. Turn to +the left, and you will meet me.” +</p> + +<p> +Guided by his voice, Wildrake soon appeared, with a light in one hand, and his +drawn sword in the other. “Where have you been?” he +said—“What has detained you?—Here are Bletson and the brute +Desborough terrified out of their lives, and Harrison raving mad, because the +devil will not be civil enough to rise to fight him in single +<i>duello</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Saw or heard you nothing as you came along?” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” said his friend, “excepting that when I first +entered this cursed ruinous labyrinth, the light was struck out of my hand, as +if by a switch, which obliged me to return for another.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must come by a horse instantly, Wildrake, and another for thyself, if +it be possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“We can take two of those belonging to the troopers,” answered +Wildrake. “But for what purpose should we run away, like rats, at this +time in the evening?—Is the house falling?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot answer you,” said the Colonel, pushing forward into a +room where there were some remains of furniture. +</p> + +<p> +Here the cavalier took a more strict view of his person, and exclaimed in +wonder, “What the devil have you been fighting with, Markham, that has +bedizened you after this sorry fashion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fighting!” exclaimed Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied his trusty attendant. “I say fighting. Look at +yourself in the mirror.” +</p> + +<p> +He did, and saw he was covered with dust and blood. The latter proceeded from a +scratch which he had received in the throat, as he struggled to extricate +himself. With unaffected alarm, Wildrake undid his friend’s collar, and +with eager haste proceeded to examine the wound, his hands trembling, and his +eyes glistening with apprehension for his benefactor’s life. When, in +spite of Everard’s opposition, he had examined the hurt, and found it +trifling, he resumed the natural wildness of his character, perhaps the more +readily that he had felt shame in departing from it, into one which expressed +more of feeling than he would be thought to possess. +</p> + +<p> +“If that be the devil’s work, Mark,” said he, “the foul +fiend’s claws are not nigh so formidable as they are represented; but no +one shall say that your blood has been shed unrevenged, while Roger Wildrake +was by your side. Where left you this same imp? I will back to the field of +fight, confront him with my rapier, and were his nails tenpenny nails, and his +teeth as long as those of a harrow, he shall render me reason for the injury he +has done you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Madness—madness!” exclaimed Everard; “I had this +trifling hurt by a fall—a basin and towel will wipe it away. Meanwhile, +if you will ever do me kindness, get the troop-horses—command them for +the service of the public, in the name of his Excellency the General. I will +but wash, and join you in an instant before the gate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I will serve you, Everard, as a mute serves the Grand Signior, +without knowing why or wherefore. But will you go without seeing these people +below?” +</p> + +<p> +“Without seeing any one,” said Everard; “lose no time, for +God’s sake.” +</p> + +<p> +He found out the non-commissioned officer, and demanded the horses in a tone of +authority, to which the corporal yielded undisputed obedience, as one well +aware of Colonel Everard’s military rank and consequence. So all was in a +minute or two ready for the expedition. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + She kneeled, and saintlike<br/> +Cast her eyes to heaven, and pray’d devoutly. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +K<small>ING</small> H<small>ENRY</small> VIII. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Everard’s departure at the late hour, for, so it was then +thought, of seven in the evening, excited much speculation. There was a +gathering of menials and dependents in the outer chamber or hall, for no one +doubted that his sudden departure was owing to his having, as they expressed +it, “seen something,” and all desired to know how a man of such +acknowledged courage as Everard, looked under the awe of a recent apparition. +But he gave them no time to make comments; for, striding through the hall wrapt +in his riding suit, he threw himself on horseback, and rode furiously through +the Chase, towards the hut of the keeper Joliffe. +</p> + +<p> +It was the disposition of Markham Everard to be hot, keen, earnest, impatient, +and decisive to a degree of precipitation. The acquired habits which education +had taught, and which the strong moral and religious discipline of his sect had +greatly strengthened, were such as to enable him to conceal, as well as to +check, this constitutional violence, and to place him upon his guard against +indulging it. But when in the high tide of violent excitation, the natural +impetuosity of the young soldier’s temper was sometimes apt to overcome +these artificial obstacles, and then, like a torrent foaming over a wear, it +became more furious, as if in revenge for the constrained calm which it had +been for some time obliged to assume. In these instances he was accustomed to +see only that point to which his thoughts were bent, and to move straight +towards it, whether a moral object, or the storming of a breach, without either +calculating, or even appearing to see, the difficulties which were before him. +</p> + +<p> +At present, his ruling and impelling motive was to detach his beloved cousin, +if possible, from the dangerous and discreditable machinations in which he +suspected her to have engaged, or, on the other hand, to discover that she +really had no concern with these stratagems. He should know how to judge of +that in some measure, he thought, by finding her present or absent at the hut, +towards which he was now galloping. He had read, indeed, in some ballad or +minstrel’s tale, of a singular deception practised on a jealous old man, +by means of a subterranean communication between his house and that of a +neighbour, which the lady in question made use of to present herself in the two +places alternately, with such speed, and so much address, that, after repeated +experiments, the dotard was deceived into the opinion, that his wife, and the +lady who was so very like her, and to whom his neighbour paid so much +attention, were two different persons. But in the present case there was no +room for such a deception; the distance was too great, and as he took by much +the nearest way from the castle, and rode full speed, it would be impossible, +he knew, for his cousin, who was a timorous horsewoman even by daylight, to +have got home before him. +</p> + +<p> +Her father might indeed be displeased at his interference; but what title had +he to be so?—Was not Alice Lee the near relation of his blood, the +dearest object of his heart, and would he now abstain from an effort to save +her from the consequences of a silly and wild conspiracy, because the old +knight’s spleen might be awakened by Everard’s making his +appearance at their present dwelling contrary to his commands? No. He would +endure the old man’s harsh language, as he endured the blast of the +autumn wind, which was howling around him, and swinging the crashing branches +of the trees under which he passed, but could not oppose, or even retard, his +journey. +</p> + +<p> +If he found not Alice, as he had reason to believe she would be absent, to Sir +Henry Lee himself he would explain what he had witnessed. However she might +have become accessory to the juggling tricks performed at Woodstock, he could +not but think it was without her father’s knowledge, so severe a judge +was the old knight of female propriety, and so strict an assertor of female +decorum. He would take the same opportunity, he thought, of stating to him the +well-grounded hopes he entertained, that his dwelling at the Lodge might be +prolonged, and the sequestrators removed from the royal mansion and domains, by +other means than those of the absurd species of intimidation which seemed to be +resorted to, to scare them from thence. +</p> + +<p> +All this seemed to be so much within the line of his duty as a relative, that +it was not until he halted at the door of the ranger’s hut, and threw his +bridle into Wildrake’s hand, that Everard recollected the fiery, high, +and unbending character of Sir Henry Lee, and felt, even when his fingers were +on the latch, a reluctance to intrude himself upon the presence of the +irritable old knight. +</p> + +<p> +But there was no time for hesitation. Bevis, who had already bayed more than +once from within the Lodge, was growing impatient, and Everard had but just +time to bid Wildrake hold the horses until he should send Joceline to his +assistance, when old Joan unpinned the door, to demand who was without at that +time of the night. To have attempted anything like an explanation with poor +dame Joan, would have been quite hopeless; the Colonel, therefore, put her +gently aside, and shaking himself loose from the hold she had laid on his +cloak, entered the kitchen of Joceline’s dwelling. Bevis, who had +advanced to support Joan in her opposition, humbled his lion-port, with that +wonderful instinct which makes his race remember so long those with whom they +have been familiar, and acknowledged his master’s relative, by doing +homage in his fashion, with his head and tail. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Everard, more uncertain in his purpose every moment as the necessity of +its execution drew near, stole over the floor like one who treads in a sick +chamber, and opening the door of the interior apartment with a slow and +trembling hand, as he would have withdrawn the curtains of a dying friend, he +saw, within, the scene which we are about to describe. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry Lee sat in a wicker arm-chair by the fire. He was wrapped in a cloak, +and his limbs extended on a stool, as if he were suffering from gout or +indisposition. His long white beard flowing over the dark-coloured garment, +gave him more the appearance of a hermit than of an aged soldier or man of +quality; and that character was increased by the deep and devout attention with +which he listened to a respectable old man, whose dilapidated dress showed +still something of the clerical habit, and who, with a low, but full and deep +voice, was reading the Evening Service according to the Church of England. +Alice Lee kneeled at the feet of her father, and made the responses with a +voice that might have suited the choir of angels; and a modest and serious +devotion, which suited the melody of her tone. The face of the officiating +clergyman would have been good-looking, had it not been disfigured with a black +patch which covered the left eye and a part of his face, and had not the +features which were visible been marked with the traces of care and suffering. +</p> + +<p> +When Colonel Everard entered, the clergyman raised his finger, as cautioning +him to forbear disturbing the divine service of the evening, and pointed to a +seat; to which, struck deeply with the scene he had witnessed, the intruder +stole with as light a step as possible, and knelt devoutly down as one of the +little congregation. +</p> + +<p> +Everard had been bred by his father what was called a Puritan; a member of a +sect who, in the primitive sense of the word, were persons that did not except +against the doctrines of the Church of England, or even in all respects against +its hierarchy, but chiefly dissented from it on the subject of certain +ceremonies, habits, and forms of ritual, which were insisted upon by the +celebrated and unfortunate Laud with ill-timed tenacity. But even if, from the +habits of his father’s house, Everard’s opinions had been +diametrically opposed to the doctrines of the English Church, he must have been +reconciled to them by the regularity with which the service was performed in +his uncle’s family at Woodstock, who, during the blossom of his fortunes, +generally had a chaplain residing in the Lodge for that special purpose. +</p> + +<p> +Yet deep as was the habitual veneration with which he heard the impressive +service of the Church, Everard’s eyes could not help straying towards +Alice, and his thoughts wandering to the purpose of his presence there. She +seemed to have recognised him at once, for there was a deeper glow than usual +upon her cheek, her fingers trembled as they turned the leaves of her +prayerbook, and her voice, lately as firm as it was melodious, faltered when +she repeated the responses. It appeared to Everard, as far as he could collect +by the stolen glances which he directed towards her, that the character of her +beauty, as well as of her outward appearance, had changed with her fortunes. +</p> + +<p> +The beautiful and high-born young lady had now approached as nearly as possible +to the brown stuff dress of an ordinary village maiden; but what she had lost +in gaiety of appearance, she had gained as it seemed in dignity. Her beautiful +light-brown tresses, now folded around her head, and only curled where nature +had so arranged them, gave her an air of simplicity, which did not exist when +her head-dress showed the skill of a curious tire-woman. A light joyous air, +with something of a humorous expression, which seemed to be looking for +amusement, had vanished before the touch of affliction, and a calm melancholy +supplied its place, which seemed on the watch to administer comfort to others. +Perhaps the former arch, though innocent expression of countenance, was +uppermost in her lover’s recollection, when he concluded that Alice had +acted a part in the disturbances which had taken place at the Lodge. It is +certain, that when he now looked upon her, it was with shame for having +nourished such a suspicion, and the resolution to believe rather that the devil +had imitated her voice, than that a creature, who seemed so much above the +feelings of this world, and so nearly allied to the purity of the next, should +have had the indelicacy to mingle in such manoeuvres as he himself and others +had been subjected to. +</p> + +<p> +These thoughts shot through his mind, in spite of the impropriety of indulging +them at such a moment. The service now approached the close, and a good deal to +Colonel Everard’s surprise, as well as confusion, the officiating priest, +in firm and audible tone, and with every attribute of dignity, prayed to the +Almighty to bless and preserve “Our Sovereign Lord, King Charles, the +lawful and undoubted King of these realms.” The petition (in those days +most dangerous) was pronounced with a full, raised, and distinct articulation, +as if the priest challenged all who heard him to dissent, if they dared. If the +republican officer did not assent to the petition, he thought at least it was +no time to protest against it. +</p> + +<p> +The service was concluded in the usual manner, and the little congregation +arose. It now included Wildrake, who had entered during the latter prayer, and +was the first of the party to speak, running up to the priest, and shaking him +by the hand most heartily, swearing at the same time, that he truly rejoiced to +see him. The good clergyman returned the pressure with a smile, observing he +should have believed his asseveration without an oath. In the meanwhile, +Colonel Everard, approaching his uncle’s seat, made a deep inclination of +respect, first to Sir Henry Lee, and then to Alice, whose colour now spread +from her cheek to her brow and bosom. +</p> + +<p> +“I have to crave your excuse,” said the Colonel with hesitation, +“for having chosen for my visit, which I dare not hope would be very +agreeable at any time, a season most peculiarly unsuitable.” +</p> + +<p> +“So far from it, nephew,” answered Sir Henry, with much more +mildness of manner than Everard had dared to expect, “that your visits at +other times would be much more welcome, had we the fortune to see you often at +our hours of worship.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope the time will soon come, sir, when Englishmen of all sects and +denominations,” replied Everard, “will be free in conscience to +worship in common the great Father, whom they all after their manner call by +that affectionate name.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so too, nephew,” said the old man in the same unaltered +tone; “and we will not at present dispute, whether you would have the +Church of England coalesce with the Conventicle, or the Conventicle conform to +the Church. It was, I ween, not to settle jarring creeds, that you have +honoured our poor dwelling, where, to say the truth, we dared scarce have +expected to see you again, so coarse was our last welcome.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should be happy to believe,” said Colonel Everard, hesitating, +“that—that—in short my presence was not now so unwelcome here +as on that occasion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nephew,” said Sir Henry, “I will be frank with you. When you +were last here, I thought you had stolen from me a precious pearl, which at one +time it would have been my pride and happiness to have bestowed on you; but +which, being such as you have been of late, I would bury in the depths of the +earth rather than give to your keeping. This somewhat chafed, as honest Will +says, ‘the rash humour which my mother gave me.’ I thought I was +robbed, and I thought I saw the robber before me. I am mistaken—I am not +robbed; and the attempt without the deed I can pardon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not willingly seek offence in your words, sir,” said +Colonel Everard, “when their general purport sounds kind; but I can +protest before Heaven, that my views and wishes towards you and your family are +as void of selfish hopes and selfish ends, as they are fraught with love to you +and to yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us hear them, man; we are not much accustomed to good wishes +now-a-days; and their very rarity will make them welcome.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would willingly, Sir Henry, since you might not choose me to give you +a more affectionate name, convert those wishes into something effectual for +your comfort. Your fate, as the world now stands, is bad, and, I fear, like to +be worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Worse than I expect it cannot be. Nephew, I do not shrink before my +changes of fortune. I shall wear coarser clothes,—I shall feed on more +ordinary food,—men will not doff their cap to me as they were wont, when +I was the great and the wealthy. What of that? Old Harry Lee loved his honour +better than his title, his faith better than his land and lordship. Have I not +seen the 30th of January? I am neither Philomath nor astrologer; but old Will +teaches me, that when green leaves fall winter is at hand, and that darkness +will come when the sun sets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bethink you, sir,” said Colonel Everard, “if, without any +submission asked, any oath taken, any engagement imposed, express or tacit, +excepting that you are not to excite disturbances in the public peace, you can +be restored to your residence in the Lodge, and your usual fortunes and +perquisities there—I have great reason to hope this may be permitted, if +not expressly, at least on sufferance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I understand you. I am to be treated like the royal coin, marked +with the ensign of the Rump to make it pass current, although I am too old to +have the royal insignia grinded off from me. Kinsman, I will have none of this. +I have lived at the Lodge too long; and let me tell you, I had left it in scorn +long since, but for the orders of one whom I may yet live to do service to. I +will take nothing from the usurpers, be their name Rump or Cromwell—be +they one devil or legion—I will not take from them an old cap to cover my +grey hairs—a cast cloak to protect my frail limbs from the cold. They +shall not say they have, by their unwilling bounty, made Abraham rich—I +will live, as I will die, the Loyal Lee.” +</p> + +<p> +“May I hope you will think of it, sir; and that you will, perhaps, +considering what slight submission is asked, give me a better answer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, if I retract my opinion, which is not my wont, you shall hear of +it.—And now, cousin, have you more to say? We keep that worthy clergyman +in the outer room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Something I had to say—something touching my cousin Alice,” +said Everard, with embarrassment; “but I fear that the prejudices of both +are so strong against me”— +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, I dare turn my daughter loose to you—I will go join the good +doctor in dame Joan’s apartment. I am not unwilling that you should know +that the girl hath, in all reasonable sort, the exercise of her free +will.” +</p> + +<p> +He withdrew, and left the cousins together. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Everard advanced to Alice, and was about to take her hand. She drew +back, took the seat which her father had occupied, and pointed out to him one +at some distance. +</p> + +<p> +“Are we then so much estranged, my dearest Alice?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“We will speak of that presently,” she replied. “In the first +place, let me ask the cause of your visit here at so late an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“You heard,” said Everard, “what I stated to your +father?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did; but that seems to have been only part of your +errand—something there seemed to be which applied particularly to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a fancy—a strange mistake,” answered Everard. +“May I ask if you have been abroad this evening?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” she replied. “I have small temptation to +wander from my present home, poor as it is; and whilst here, I have important +duties to discharge. But why does Colonel Everard ask so strange a +question?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me in turn, why your cousin Markham has lost the name of friendship +and kindred, and even of some nearer feeling, and then I will answer you, +Alice?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is soon answered,” she said. “When you drew your sword +against my father’s cause—almost against his person—I +studied, more than I should have done, to find excuse for you. I knew, that is, +I thought I knew your high feelings of public duty—I knew the opinions in +which you had been bred up; and I said, I will not, even for this, cast him +off—he opposes his King because he is loyal to his country. You +endeavoured to avert the great and concluding tragedy of the 30th of January; +and it confirmed me in my opinion, that Markham Everard might be misled, but +could not be base or selfish.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what has changed your opinion, Alice? or who dare,” said +Everard, reddening, “attach such epithets to the name of Markham +Everard?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am no subject,” she said, “for exercising your valour, +Colonel Everard, nor do I mean to offend. But you will find enough of others +who will avow, that Colonel Everard is truckling to the usurper Cromwell, and +that all his fair pretexts of forwarding his country’s liberties, are but +a screen for driving a bargain with the successful encroacher, and obtaining +the best terms he can for himself and his family.” +</p> + +<p> +“For myself—never!” +</p> + +<p> +“But for your family you have—Yes, I am well assured that you have +pointed out to the military tyrant, the way in which he and his satraps may +master the government. Do you think my father or I would accept an asylum +purchased at the price of England’s liberty, and your honour?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gracious Heaven, Alice, what is this? You accuse me of pursuing the very +course which so lately had your approbation!” +</p> + +<p> +“When you spoke with authority of your father, and recommended our +submission to the existing government, such as it was, I own I +thought—that my father’s grey head might, without dishonour, have +remained under the roof where it had so long been sheltered. But did your +father sanction your becoming the adviser of yonder ambitious soldier to a new +course of innovation, and his abettor in the establishment of a new species of +tyranny?—It is one thing to submit to oppression, another to be the agent +of tyrants—And O, Markham—their bloodhound!” +</p> + +<p> +“How! bloodhound?—what mean you?—I own it is true I could see +with content the wounds of this bleeding country stanched, even at the expense +of beholding Cromwell, after his matchless rise, take a yet farther step to +power—but to be his bloodhound! What is your meaning?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is false, then?—I thought I could swear it had been +false.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, in the name of God, is it you ask?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is false that you are engaged to betray the young King of +Scotland?” +</p> + +<p> +“Betray him! <i>I</i> betray him, or any fugitive? Never! I would he were +well out of England—I would lend him my aid to escape, were he in the +house at this instant; and think in acting so I did his enemies good service, +by preventing their soiling themselves with his blood—but betray him, +never!” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew it—I was sure it was impossible. Oh, be yet more honest; +disengage yourself from yonder gloomy and ambitious soldier! Shun him and his +schemes, which are formed in injustice, and can only be realized in yet more +blood!” +</p> + +<p> +“Believe me,” replied Everard, “that I choose the line of +policy best befitting the times.” +</p> + +<p> +“Choose that,” she said, “which best befits duty, +Markham—which best befits truth and honour. Do your duty, and let +Providence decide the rest.—Farewell! we tempt my father’s patience +too far—you know his temper—farewell, Markham.” +</p> + +<p> +She extended her hand, which he pressed to his lips, and left the apartment. A +silent bow to his uncle, and a sign to Wildrake, whom he found in the kitchen +of the cabin, were the only tokens of recognition exhibited, and leaving the +hut, he was soon mounted, and, with his companion, advanced on his return to +the Lodge. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Deeds are done on earth<br/> +Which have their punishment ere the earth closes<br/> +Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working<br/> +Of the remorse-stirr’d fancy, or the vision,<br/> +Distinct and real, of unearthly being,<br/> +All ages witness, that beside the couch<br/> +Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost<br/> +Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy wound. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +O<small>LD</small> P<small>LAY</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Everard had come to Joceline’s hut as fast as horse could bear him, and +with the same impetuosity of purpose as of speed. He saw no choice in the +course to be pursued, and felt in his own imagination the strongest right to +direct, and even reprove, his cousin, beloved as she was, on account of the +dangerous machinations with which she appeared to have connected herself. He +returned slowly, and in a very different mood. +</p> + +<p> +Not only had Alice, prudent as beautiful, appeared completely free from the +weakness of conduct which seemed to give him some authority over her, but her +views of policy, if less practicable, were so much more direct and noble than +his own, as led him to question whether he had not compromised himself too +rashly with Cromwell, even although the state of the country was so greatly +divided and torn by faction, that the promotion of the General to the +possession of the executive government seemed the only chance of escaping a +renewal of the Civil War. The more exalted and purer sentiments of Alice +lowered him in his own eyes; and though unshaken in his opinion, that it were +better the vessel should be steered by a pilot having no good title to the +office, than that she should run upon the breakers, he felt that he was not +espousing the most direct, manly, and disinterested side of the question. +</p> + +<p> +As he rode on, immersed in these unpleasant contemplations, and considerably +lessened in his own esteem by what had happened, Wildrake, who rode by his +side, and was no friend to long silence, began to enter into conversation. +“I have been thinking, Mark,” said he, “that if you and I had +been called to the bar—as, by the by, has been in danger of happening to +me in more senses than one—I say, had we become barristers, I would have +had the better oiled tongue of the two—the fairer art of +persuasion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps so,” replied Everard, “though I never heard thee use +any, save to induce an usurer to lend thee money, or a taverner to abate a +reckoning.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet this day, or rather night, I could have, as I think, made a +conquest which baffled you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed?” said the Colonel, becoming attentive. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, look you,” said Wildrake, “it was a main object with +you to induce Mistress Alice Lee—By Heaven, she is an exquisite +creature—I approve of your taste, Mark—I say, you desire to +persuade her, and the stout old Trojan her father, to consent to return to the +Lodge, and live there quietly, and under connivance, like gentlefolk, instead +of lodging in a hut hardly fit to harbour a Tom of Bedlam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art right; such, indeed, was a great part of my object in this +visit,” answered Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“But perhaps you also expected to visit there yourself, and so keep watch +over pretty Mistress Lee—eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never entertained so selfish a thought,” said Everard; +“and if this nocturnal disturbance at the mansion were explained and +ended, I would instantly take my departure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your friend Noll would expect something more from you,” said +Wildrake; “he would expect, in case the knight’s reputation for +loyalty should draw any of our poor exiles and wanderers about the Lodge, that +you should be on the watch and ready to snap them. In a word, as far as I can +understand his long-winded speeches, he would have Woodstock a trap, your uncle +and his pretty daughter the bait of toasted-cheese—craving your +Chloe’s pardon for the comparison—you the spring-fall which should +bar their escape, his Lordship himself being the great grimalkin to whom they +are to be given over to be devoured.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dared Cromwell mention this to thee in express terms?” said +Everard, pulling up his horse, and stopping in the midst of the road. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, not in express terms, which I do not believe he ever used in his +life; you might as well expect a drunken man to go straight forward; but he +insinuated as much to me, and indicated that you might deserve well of +him—Gadzo, the damnable proposal sticks in my throat—by betraying +our noble and rightful King, (here he pulled off his hat,) whom God grant in +health and wealth long to reign, as the worthy clergyman says, though I fear +just now his Majesty is both sick and sorry, and never a penny in his pouch to +boot.” +</p> + +<p> +“This tallies with what Alice hinted,” said Everard; “but how +could she know it? didst thou give her any hint of such a thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“I!” replied the cavalier, “I, who never saw Mistress Alice +in my life till to-night, and then only for an instant—zooks, man, how is +that possible?” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” replied Everard, and seemed lost in thought. At length he +spoke—“I should call Cromwell to account for his bad opinion of me; +for, even though not seriously expressed, but, as I am convinced it was, with +the sole view of proving you, and perhaps myself, it was, nevertheless, a +misconstruction to be resented.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll carry a cartel for you, with all my heart and soul,” +said Wildrake; “and turn out with his godliness’s second, with as +good will as I ever drank a glass of sack.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw,” replied Everard, “those in his high place fight no +single combats. But tell me, Roger Wildrake, didst thou thyself think me +capable of the falsehood and treachery implied in such a message?” +</p> + +<p> +“I!” exclaimed Wildrake. “Markham Everard, you have been my +early friend, my constant benefactor. When Colchester was reduced, you saved me +from the gallows, and since that thou hast twenty times saved me from starving. +But, by Heaven, if I thought you capable of such villany as your General +recommended,—by yonder blue sky, and all the works of creation which it +bends over, I would stab you with my own hand!” +</p> + +<p> +“Death,” replied Everard, “I should indeed deserve, but not +from you, perhaps; but fortunately, I cannot, if I would, be guilty of the +treachery you would punish. Know that I had this day secret notice, and from +Cromwell himself, that the young Man has escaped by sea from Bristol.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, God Almighty be blessed, who protected him through so many +dangers!” exclaimed Wildrake. “Huzza!—Up hearts, +cavaliers!—Hey for cavaliers!—God bless King Charles!—Moon +and stars, catch my hat!”—and he threw it up as high as he could +into the air. The celestial bodies which he invoked did not receive the present +dispatched to them; but, as in the case of Sir Henry Lee’s scabbard, an +old gnarled oak became a second time the receptacle of a waif and stray of +loyal enthusiasm. Wildrake looked rather foolish at the circumstance, and his +friend took the opportunity of admonishing him. +</p> + +<p> +“Art thou not ashamed to bear thee so like a schoolboy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Wildrake, “I have but sent a Puritan’s hat +upon a loyal errand. I laugh to think how many of the schoolboys thou +talk’st of will be cheated into climbing the pollard next year, expecting +to find the nest of some unknown bird in yonder unmeasured margin of +felt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush now, for God’s sake, and let us speak calmly,” said +Everard. “Charles has escaped, and I am glad of it. I would willingly +have seen him on his father’s throne by composition, but not by the force +of the Scottish army, and the incensed and vengeful royalists.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Markham Everard,” began the cavalier, interrupting +him—“Nay, hush, dear Wildrake,” said Everard; “let us +not dispute a point on which we cannot agree, and give me leave to go +on.—I say, since the young Man has escaped, Cromwell’s offensive +and injurious stipulation falls to the ground; and I see not why my uncle and +his family should not again enter their own house, under the same terms of +connivance as many other royalists. What may be incumbent on me is different, +nor can I determine my course until I have an interview with the General, +which, as I think, will end in his confessing that he threw in this offensive +proposal to sound us both. It is much in his manner; for he is blunt, and never +sees or feels the punctilious honour which the gallants of the day stretch to +such delicacy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll acquit him of having any punctilio about him,” said +Wildrake, “either touching honour or honesty. Now, to come back to where +we started. Supposing you were not to reside in person at the Lodge, and to +forbear even visiting there, unless on invitation, when such a thing can be +brought about, I tell you frankly, I think your uncle and his daughter might be +induced to come back to the Lodge, and reside there as usual. At least the +clergyman, that worthy old cock, gave me to hope as much.” +</p> + +<p> +“He had been hasty in bestowing his confidence,” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“True,” replied Wildrake; “he confided in me at once; for he +instantly saw my regard for the Church. I thank Heaven I never passed a +clergyman in his canonicals without pulling my hat off—(and thou knowest, +the most desperate duel I ever fought was with young Grayless of the Inner +Temple, for taking the wall of the Reverend Dr. Bunce)—Ah, I can gain a +chaplain’s ear instantly. Gadzooks, they know whom they have to trust to +in such a one as I.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dost thou think, then,” said Colonel Everard, “or rather +does this clergyman think, that if they were secure of intrusion from me, the +family would return to the Lodge, supposing the intruding Commissioners gone, +and this nocturnal disturbance explained and ended?” +</p> + +<p> +“The old Knight,” answered Wildrake, “may be wrought upon by +the Doctor to return, if he is secure against intrusion. As for disturbances, +the stout old boy, so far as I can learn in two minutes’ conversation, +laughs at all this turmoil as the work of mere imagination, the consequence of +the remorse of their own evil consciences; and says that goblin or devil was +never heard of at Woodstock, until it became the residence of such men as they, +who have now usurped the possession.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is more than imagination in it,” said Everard. “I have +personal reason to know there is some conspiracy carrying on, to render the +house untenable by the Commissioners. I acquit my uncle of accession to such a +silly trick; but I must see it ended ere I can agree to his and my +cousin’s residing where such a confederacy exists; for they are likely to +be considered as the contrivers of such pranks, be the actual agent who he +may.” +</p> + +<p> +“With reference to your better acquaintance with the gentleman, Everard, +I should rather suspect the old father of Puritans (I beg your pardon again) +has something to do with the business; and if so, Lucifer will never look near +the true old Knight’s beard, nor abide a glance of yonder maiden’s +innocent blue eyes. I will uphold them as safe as pure gold in a miser’s +chest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sawest thou aught thyself, which makes thee think thus?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a quill of the devil’s pinion saw I,” replied Wildrake. +“He supposes himself too secure of an old cavalier, who must steal, hang, +or drown, in the long run, so he gives himself no trouble to look after the +assured booty. But I heard the serving-fellows prate of what they had seen and +heard; and though their tales were confused enough, yet if there was any truth +among them at all, I should say the devil must have been in the +dance.—But, holla! here comes some one upon us.—Stand, +friend—who art thou?” +</p> + +<p> +“A poor day-labourer in the great work of England—Joseph Tomkins by +name—Secretary to a godly and well-endowed leader in this poor Christian +army of England, called General Harrison.” +</p> + +<p> +“What news, Master Tomkins?” said Everard; “and why are you +on the road at this late hour?” +</p> + +<p> +“I speak to the worthy Colonel Everard, as I judge?” said Tomkins; +“and truly I am glad of meeting your honour. Heaven knows, I need such +assistance as yours.—Oh, worthy Master Everard!—Here has been a +sounding of trumpets, and a breaking of vials, and a pouring forth, +and”— +</p> + +<p> +“Prithee, tell me in brief, what is the matter—where is thy +master—and, in a word, what has happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“My master is close by, parading it in the little meadow, beside the +hugeous oak, which is called by the name of the late Man; ride but two steps +forward, and you may see him walking swiftly to and fro, advancing all the +while the naked weapon.” +</p> + +<p> +Upon proceeding as directed, but with as little noise as possible, they +descried a man, whom of course they concluded must be Harrison, walking to and +fro beneath the King’s oak, as a sentinel under arms, but with more +wildness of demeanour. The tramp of the horses did not escape his ear; and they +heard him call out, as if at the head of the brigade— “Lower pikes +against cavalry!—Here comes Prince Rupert—Stand fast, and you shall +turn them aside, as a bull would toss a cur-dog. Lower your pikes still, my +hearts, the end secured against your foot—down on your right knee, front +rank—spare not for the spoiling of your blue +aprons.—Ha—Zerobabel—ay, that is the word!” +</p> + +<p> +“In the name of Heaven, about whom or what is he talking” said +Everard; “wherefore does he go about with his weapon drawn?” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, sir, when aught disturbs my master, General Harrison, he is +something rapt in the spirit, and conceives that he is commanding a reserve of +pikes at the great battle of Armageddon—and for his weapon, alack, worthy +sir, wherefore should he keep Sheffield steel in calves’ leather, when +there are fiends to be combated—incarnate fiends on earth, and raging +infernal fiends under the earth?” +</p> + +<p> +“This is intolerable,” said Everard. “Listen to me, Tomkins. +Thou art not now in the pulpit, and I desire none of thy preaching language. I +know thou canst speak intelligibly when thou art so minded. Remember, I may +serve or harm thee; and as you hope or fear any thing on my part, answer +straight-forward—What has happened to drive out thy master to the wild +wood at this time of night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Forsooth, worthy and honoured sir, I will speak with the precision I +may. True it is, and of verity, that the breath of man, which is in his +nostrils, goeth forth and returneth”— +</p> + +<p> +“Hark you, sir,” said Colonel Everard, “take care where you +ramble in your correspondence with me. You have heard how at the great battle +of Dunbar in Scotland, the General himself held a pistol to the head of +Lieutenant Hewcreed, threatening to shoot him through the brain if he did not +give up holding forth, and put his squadron in line to the front. Take care, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Verily, the lieutenant then charged with an even and unbroken +order,” said Tomkins, “and bore a thousand plaids and bonnets over +the beach before him into the sea. Neither shall I pretermit or postpone your +honour’s commands, but speedily obey them, and that without delay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go to, fellow; thou knowest what I would have,” said Everard; +“speak at once; I know thou canst if thou wilt. Trusty Tomkins is better +known than he thinks for.” +</p> + +<p> +“Worthy sir,” said Tomkins, in a much less periphrastic style, +“I will obey your worship as far as the spirit will permit. Truly, it was +not an hour since, when my worshipful master being at table with Master Bibbet +and myself, not to mention the worshipful Master Bletson and Colonel +Desborough, and behold there was a violent knocking at the gate, as of one in +haste. Now, of a certainty, so much had our household been harassed with +witches and spirits, and other objects of sound and sight, that the sentinels +could not be brought to abide upon their posts without doors, and it was only +by a provision of beef and strong liquors that we were able to maintain a guard +of three men in the hall, who nevertheless ventured not to open the door, lest +they should be surprised with some of the goblins wherewith their imaginations +were overwhelmed. And they heard the knocking, which increased until it seemed +that the door was well-nigh about to be beaten down. Worthy Master Bibbet was a +little overcome with liquor, (as is his fashion, good man, about this time of +the evening,) not that he is in the least given to ebriety, but simply, that +since the Scottish campaign he hath had a perpetual ague, which obliges him so +to nourish his frame against the damps of the night; wherefore, as it is well +known to your honour that I discharge the office of a faithful servant, as well +to Major-General Harrison, and the other Commissioners, as to my just and +lawful master, Colonel Desborough”— +</p> + +<p> +“I know all that.—And now that thou art trusted by both, I pray to +Heaven thou mayest merit the trust,” said Colonel Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“And devoutly do I pray,” said Tomkins, “that your worshipful +prayers may be answered with favour; for certainly to be, and to be called and +entitled, Honest Joe, and Trusty Tomkins, is to me more than ever would be an +Earl’s title, were such things to be granted anew in this regenerated +government.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, go on—go on—or if thou dalliest much longer, I will +make bold to dispute the article of your honesty. I like short tales, sir, and +doubt what is told with a long unnecessary train of words.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, good sir, be not hasty. As I said before, the doors rattled till +you would have thought the knocking was reiterated in every room of the Palace. +The bell rung out for company, though we could not find that any one tolled the +clapper, and the guards let off their firelocks, merely because they knew not +what better to do. So, Master Bibbet being, as I said, unsusceptible of his +duty, I went down with my poor rapier to the door, and demanded who was there; +and I was answered in a voice, which, I must say, was much like another voice, +that it was one wanting Major-General Harrison. So, as it was then late, I +answered mildly, that General Harrison was betaking himself to his rest, and +that any who wished to speak to him must return on the morrow morning, for that +after nightfall the door of the Palace, being in the room of a garrison, would +be opened to no one. So, the voice replied, and bid me open directly, without +which he would blow the folding leaves of the door into the middle of the hall. +And therewithal the noise recommenced, that we thought the house would have +fallen; and I was in some measure constrained to open the door, even like a +besieged garrison which can hold out no longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“By my honour, and it was stoutly done of you, I must say,” said +Wildrake,—who had been listening with much interest. “I am a bold +dare-devil enough, yet when I had two inches of oak plank between the actual +fiend and me, hang him that would demolish the barrier between us, say +I—I would as soon, when aboard, bore a hole in the ship, and let in the +waves; for you know we always compare the devil to the deep sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Prithee, peace, Wildrake,” said Everard, “and let him go on +with his history.—Well, and what saw’st thou when the door was +opened?—the great Devil with his horns and claws thou wilt say, no +doubt.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, I will say nothing but what is true. When I undid the door, one +man stood there, and he, to seeming, a man of no extraordinary appearance. He +was wrapped in a taffeta cloak of a scarlet colour, and with a red lining. He +seemed as if he might have been in his time a very handsome man, but there was +something of paleness and sorrow in his face—a long love-lock and long +hair he wore, even after the abomination of the cavaliers, and the +unloveliness, as learned Master Prynne well termed it, of love-locks—a +jewel in his ear—a blue scarf over his shoulder, like a military +commander for the King, and a hat with a white plume, bearing a peculiar +hatband.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some unhappy officer of cavaliers, of whom so many are in hiding, and +seeking shelter through the country,” briefly replied Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“True, worthy sir—right as a judicious exposition. But there was +something about this man (if he was a man) whom I, for one, could not look upon +without trembling; nor the musketeers,—who were in the hall, without +betraying much alarm, and swallowing, as they will themselves aver, the very +bullets—which they had in their mouths for loading their carabines and +muskets. Nay, the wolf and deer-dogs, that are the fiercest of their kind, fled +from this visitor, and crept into holes and corners, moaning and wailing in a +low and broken tone. He came into the middle of the hall, and still he seemed +no more than an ordinary man, only somewhat fantastically dressed, in a doublet +of black velvet pinked upon scarlet satin under his cloak, a jewel in his ear, +with large roses in his shoes, and a kerchief in his hand, which he sometimes +pressed against his left side.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gracious Heavens!” said Wildrake, coming close up to Everard, and +whispering in his ear, with accents which terror rendered tremulous, (a mood of +mind most unusual to the daring man, who seemed now overcome by +it)—“it must have been poor Dick Robison the player, in the very +dress in which I have seen him play Philaster—ay, and drunk a jolly +bottle with him after it at the Mermaid! I remember how many frolics we had +together, and all his little fantastic fashions. He served for his old master, +Charles, in Mohun’s troop, and was murdered by this butcher’s dog, +as I have heard, after surrender, at the battle of Naseby-field.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! I have heard of the deed,” said Everard; “for +God’s sake hear the man to an end.—Did this visitor speak to thee, +my friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, in a pleasing tone of voice, but somewhat fanciful in the +articulation, and like one who is speaking to an audience as from a bar or a +pulpit, more than in the voice of ordinary men on ordinary matters. He desired +to see Major-General Harrison.” +</p> + +<p> +“He did!—and you,” said Everard, infected by the spirit of +the time, which, as is well known, leaned to credulity upon all matters of +supernatural agency,—“what did you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I went up to the parlour, and related that such a person enquired for +him. He started when I told him, and eagerly desired to know the man’s +dress; but no sooner did I mention his dress, and the jewel in his ear, than he +said, ‘Begone! tell him I will not admit him to speech of me. Say that I +defy him, and will make my defiance good at the great battle in the valley of +Armageddon, when the voice of the angel shall call all fowls which fly under +the face of heaven to feed on the flesh of the captain and the soldier, the +warhorse and his rider. Say to the Evil One, I have power to appeal our +conflict even till that day, and that in the front of that fearful day he will +again meet with Harrison.’ I went back with this answer to the stranger, +and his face was writhed into such a deadly frown as a mere human brow hath +seldom worn. ‘Return to him,’ he said, ‘and say it is MY +HOUR, and that if he come not instantly down to speak with me, I will mount the +stairs to him. Say that I COMMAND him to descend, by the token, that, on the +field of Naseby, <i>he did not the work negligently</i>.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard,” whispered Wildrake—who felt more and more +strongly the contagion of superstition—“that these words were +blasphemously used by Harrison when he shot my poor friend Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“What happened next?” said Everard. “See that thou speakest +the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“As gospel unexpounded by a steeple-man,” said the Independent; +“yet truly it is but little I have to say. I saw my master come down, +with a blank, yet resolved air; and when he entered the hall and saw the +stranger, he made a pause. The other waved on him as if to follow, and walked +out at the portal. My worthy patron seemed as if he were about to follow, yet +again paused, when this visitant, be he man or fiend, re-entered, and said, +‘Obey thy doom. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘By pathless march by greenwood tree,<br/> +It is thy weird to follow me—<br/> +To follow me through the ghastly moonlight—<br/> +To follow me through the shadows of night—<br/> +To follow me, comrade, still art thou bound;<br/> +I conjure thee by the unstaunch’d wound—<br/> +I conjure thee by the last words I spoke<br/> +When the body slept and the spirit awoke,<br/> +In the very last pangs of the deadly stroke.’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“So saying, he stalked out, and my master followed him into the +wood.—I followed also at a distance. But when I came up, my master was +alone, and bearing himself as you now behold him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou hast had a wonderful memory, friend,” said the Colonel, +coldly, “to remember these rhymes in a single recitation—there +seems something of practice in all this.” +</p> + +<p> +“A single recitation, my honoured sir?” exclaimed the +Independent— “alack, the rhyme is seldom out of my poor +master’s mouth, when, as sometimes haps, he is less triumphant in his +wrestles with Satan. But it was the first time I ever heard it uttered by +another; and, to say truth, he ever seems to repeat it unwillingly, as a child +after his pedagogue, and as it was not indited by his own head, as the Psalmist +saith.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is singular,” said Everard;—“I have heard and read +that the spirits of the slaughtered have strange power over the slayer; but I +am astonished to have it insisted upon that there may be truth in such tales. +Roger Wildrake—what art thou afraid of, man?—why dost thou shift +thy place thus?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fear? it is not fear—it is hate, deadly hate.—I see the +murderer of poor Dick before me, and—see, he throws himself into a +posture of fence—Sa—sa—say’st thou, brood of a +butcher’s mastiff? thou shalt not want an antagonist.” +</p> + +<p> +Ere any one could stop him, Wildrake threw aside his cloak, drew his sword, and +almost with a single bound cleared the distance betwixt him and Harrison, and +crossed swords with the latter, as he stood brandishing his weapon, as if in +immediate expectation of an assailant. Accordingly, the Republican General was +not for an instant taken at unawares, but the moment the swords clashed, he +shouted, “Ha! I feel thee now, thou hast come in body at +last.—Welcome! welcome!—the sword of the Lord and of Gideon!” +</p> + +<p> +“Part them, part them!” cried Everard, as he and Tomkins, at first +astonished at the suddenness of the affray, hastened to interfere. Everard, +seizing on the cavalier, drew him forcibly backwards, and Tomkins contrived, +with risk and difficulty, to master Harrison’s sword, while the General +exclaimed, “Ha! two to one—two to one!—thus fight +demons.” Wildrake, on his side, swore a dreadful oath, and added, +“Markham, you have cancelled every obligation I owed you—they are +all out of sight—gone, d—n me!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have indeed acquitted these obligations rarely,” said Everard, +“Who knows how this affair shall be explained and answered?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will answer it with my life,” said Wildrake. +</p> + +<p> +“Good now, be silent,” said Tomkins, “and let me manage. It +shall be so ordered that the good General shall never know that he hath +encountered with a mortal man; only let that man of Moab put his sword into the +scabbard’s rest, and be still.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wildrake, let me entreat thee to sheathe thy sword,” said Everard, +“else, on my life, thou must turn it against me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, ’fore George, not so mad as that neither, but I’ll have +another day with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou, another day!” exclaimed Harrison, whose eye had still +remained fixed on the spot where he found such palpable resistance. “Yes, +I know thee well; day by day, week by week, thou makest the same idle request, +for thou knowest that my heart quivers at thy voice. But my hand trembles not +when opposed to thine—the spirit is willing to the combat, if the flesh +be weak when opposed to that which is not of the flesh.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, peace all, for Heaven’s sake,”—said the steward +Tomkins; then added, addressing his master, “there is no one here, if it +please your Excellency, but Tomkins and the worthy Colonel Everard.” +</p> + +<p> +General Harrison, as sometimes happens in cases of partial insanity, (that is, +supposing his to have been a case of mental delusion,) though firmly and +entirely persuaded of the truth of his own visions, yet was not willing to +speak on the subject to those who, he knew, would regard them as imaginary. +Upon this occasion, he assumed the appearance of perfect ease and composure, +after the violent agitation he had just manifested, in a manner which showed +how anxious he was to disguise his real feelings from Everard, whom he +considered so unlikely to participate in them. +</p> + +<p> +He saluted the Colonel with profound ceremony, and talked of the fineness of +the evening, which had summoned him forth of the Lodge, to take a turn in the +Park, and enjoy the favourable weather. He then took Everard by the arm, and +walked back with him towards the Lodge, Wildrake and Tomkins following close +behind and leading the horses. Everard, desirous to gain some light on these +mysterious incidents, endeavoured to come on the subject more than once, by a +mode of interrogation, which Harrison (for madmen are very often unwilling to +enter on the subject of their mental delusion) parried with some skill, or +addressed himself for aid to his steward Tomkins, who was in the habit of being +voucher for his master upon all occasions, which led to Desborough’s +ingenious nickname of Fibbet. +</p> + +<p> +“And wherefore had you your sword drawn, my worthy General,” said +Everard, “when you were only on an evening walk of pleasure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, excellent Colonel, these are times when men must watch with their +loins girded, and their lights burning, and their weapons drawn. The day +draweth nigh, believe me or not as you will, that men must watch lest they be +found naked and unarmed, when the seven trumpets shall sound, Boot and saddle; +and the pipes of Jezer shall strike up, Horse and away.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, good General; but methought I saw you making passes, even now, as +if you were fighting,” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“I am of a strange fantasy, friend Everard,” answered Harrison; +“and when I walk alone, and happen, as but now, to have my weapon drawn, +I sometimes, for exercise’ sake, will practise a thrust against such a +tree as that. It is a silly pride men have in the use of weapons. I have been +accounted a master of fence, and have fought for prizes when I was +unregenerated, and before I was called to do my part in the great work, +entering as a trooper into our victorious General’s first regiment of +horse.” +</p> + +<p> +“But methought,” said Everard, “I heard a weapon clash with +yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“How? a weapon clash with my sword?—How could that be, +Tomkins?” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, sir,” said Tomkins, “it must have been a bough of the +tree; they have them of all kinds here, and your honour may have pushed against +one of them, which the Brazilians call iron-wood, a block of which, being +struck with a hammer, saith Purchas in his Pilgrimage, ringeth like an +anvil.” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, it may be so,” said Harrison; “for those rulers who +are gone, assembled in this their abode of pleasure many strange trees and +plants, though they gathered not of the fruit of that tree which beareth twelve +manner of fruits, or of those leaves which are for the healing of the +nations.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard pursued his investigation; for he was struck with the manner in which +Harrison evaded his questions, and the dexterity with which he threw his +transcendental and fanatical notions, like a sort of veil, over the darker +visions excited by remorse and conscious guilt. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said he, “if I may trust my eyes and ears, I cannot +but still think that you had a real antagonist.—Nay, I am sure I saw a +fellow, in a dark-coloured jerkin, retreat through the wood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you?” said Harrison, with a tone of surprise, while his voice +faltered in spite of him—“Who could he be?—Tomkins, did you +see the fellow Colonel Everard talks of with the napkin in his hand—the +bloody napkin which he always pressed to his side?” +</p> + +<p> +This last expression, in which Harrison gave a mark different from that which +Everard had assigned, but corresponding to Tomkins’s original description +of the supposed spectre, had more effect on Everard in confirming the +steward’s story, than anything he had witnessed or heard. The voucher +answered the draft upon him as promptly as usual, that he had seen such a +fellow glide past them into the thicket—that he dared to say he was some +deer-stealer, for he had heard they were become very audacious. +</p> + +<p> +“Look ye there now, Master Everard,” said Harrison, hurrying from +the subject—“Is it not time now that we should lay aside our +controversies, and join hand in hand to repairing the breaches of our Zion? +Happy and contented were I, my excellent friend, to be a treader of mortar, or +a bearer of a hod, upon this occasion, under our great leader, with whom +Providence has gone forth in this great national controversy; and truly, so +devoutly do I hold by our excellent and victorious General Oliver, whom Heaven +long preserve—that were he to command me, I should not scruple to pluck +forth of his high place the man whom they call speaker, even as I lent a poor +hand to pluck down the man whom they called King.—Wherefore, as I know +your judgment holdeth with mine on this matter, let me urge unto you lovingly, +that we may act as brethren, and build up the breaches, and re-establish the +bulwarks of our English Zion, whereby we shall be doubtless chosen as pillars +and buttresses, under our excellent Lord-General, for supporting and sustaining +the same, and endowed with proper revenues and incomes, both spiritual and +temporal, to serve as a pedestal, on which we may stand, seeing that otherwise +our foundation will be on the loose sand.—Nevertheless,” continued +he, his mind again diverging from his views of temporal ambition into his +visions of the Fifth Monarchy, “these things are but vanity in respect of +the opening of the book which is sealed; for all things approach speedily +towards lightning and thundering, and unloosing of the great dragon from the +bottomless pit, wherein he is chained.” +</p> + +<p> +With this mingled strain of earthly politics, and fanatical prediction, +Harrison so overpowered Colonel Everard, as to leave him no time to urge him +farther on the particular circumstances of his nocturnal skirmish, concerning +which it is plain he had no desire to be interrogated. They now reached the +Lodge of Woodstock. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Now the wasted brands do glow,<br/> + While the screech-owl, sounding loud,<br/> +Puts the wretch that lies in woe,<br/> + In remembrance of a shroud.<br/> +Now it is the time of night<br/> + That the graves, all gaping wide,<br/> +Every one lets out its sprite,<br/> + In the church-way paths to glide. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +M<small>IDSUMMER</small> N<small>IGHT’S</small> D<small>REAM</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Before the gate of the palace the guards were now doubled. Everard demanded the +reason of this from the corporal, whom he found in the hall with his soldiers, +sitting or sleeping around a great fire, maintained at the expense of the +carved chairs and benches with fragments of which it was furnished. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, verily,” answered the man, “the <i>corps-de-garde</i>, +as your worship says, will be harassed to pieces by such duty; nevertheless, +fear hath gone abroad among us, and no man will mount guard alone. We have +drawn in, however, one or two of our outposts from Banbury and elsewhere, and +we are to have a relief from Oxford to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard continued minute enquiries concerning the sentinels that were posted +within as well as without the Lodge; and found that, as they had been stationed +under the eye of Harrison himself, the rules of prudent discipline had been +exactly observed in the distribution of the posts. There remained nothing +therefore for Colonel Everard to do, but, remembering his own adventure of the +evening, to recommend that an additional sentinel should be placed, with a +companion, if judged indispensable, in that vestibule, or ante-room, from which +the long gallery where he had met with the rencontre, and other suites of +apartments, diverged. The corporal respectfully promised all obedience to his +orders. The serving-men being called, appeared also in double force. Everard +demanded to know whether the Commissioners had gone to bed, or whether he could +get speech with them? “They are in their bedroom, forsooth,” +replied one of the fellows; “but I think they be not yet +undressed.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” said Everard, “are Colonel Desborough and Master +Bletson both in the same sleeping apartment?” +</p> + +<p> +“Their honours have so chosen it,” said the man; “and their +honours’ secretaries remain upon guard all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the fashion to double guards all over the house,” said +Wildrake. “Had I a glimpse of a tolerably good-looking house-maid now, I +should know how to fall into the fashion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, fool!” said Everard.—“And where are the Mayor +and Master Holdenough?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Mayor is returned to the borough on horseback, behind the trooper, +who goes to Oxford for the reinforcement; and the man of the steeple-house hath +quartered himself in the chamber which Colonel Desborough had last night, being +that in which he is most likely to meet the—your honour understands. The +Lord pity us, we are a harassed family!” +</p> + +<p> +“And where be General Harrison’s knaves,” said Tomkins, +“that they do not marshal him to his apartment?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here—here—here, Master Tomkins,” said three fellows, +pressing forward, with the same consternation on their faces which seemed to +pervade the whole inhabitants of Woodstock. +</p> + +<p> +“Away with you, then,” said Tomkins;—“speak not to his +worship—you see he is not in the humour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed,” observed Colonel Everard, “he looks singularly +wan—his features seem writhen as by a palsy stroke; and though he was +talking so fast while we came along, he hath not opened his mouth since we came +to the light.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is his manner after such visitations,” said +Tomkins.—“Give his honour your arms, Zedekiah and Jonathan, to lead +him off—I will follow instantly.—You, Nicodemus, tarry to wait upon +me—it is not well walking alone in this mansion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Tomkins,” said Everard, “I have heard of you often as +a sharp, intelligent man—tell me fairly, are you in earnest afraid of any +thing supernatural haunting this house?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would be loth to run the chance, sir,” said Tomkins very +gravely; “by looking on my worshipful master, you may form a guess how +the living look after they have spoken with the dead.” He bowed low, and +took his leave. Everard proceeded to the chamber which the two remaining +Commissioners had, for comfort’s sake, chosen to inhabit in company. They +were preparing for bed as he went into their apartment. Both started as the +door opened—both rejoiced when they saw it was only Everard who entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Hark ye hither,” said Bletson, pulling him aside, “sawest +thou ever ass equal to Desborough?—the fellow is as big as an ox, and as +timorous as a sheep. He has insisted on my sleeping here, to protect him. Shall +we have a merry night on’t, ha? We will, if thou wilt take the third bed, +which was prepared for Harrison; but he is gone out, like a mooncalf, to look +for the valley of Armageddon in the Park of Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“General Harrison has returned with me but now,” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay but, as I shall live, he comes not into our apartment,” said +Desborough, overhearing his answer. “No man that has been supping, for +aught I know, with the Devil, has a right to sleep among Christian folk.” +</p> + +<p> +“He does not propose so,” said Everard; “he sleeps, as I +understand, apart—and alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite alone, I dare say,” said Desborough; “for Harrison +hath a sort of attraction for goblins—they fly round him like moths about +a candle:—But, I prithee, good Everard, do thou stay with us. I know not +how it is, but although thou hast not thy religion always in thy mouth, nor +speakest many hard words about it, like Harrison—nor makest long +preachments, like a certain most honourable relation of mine who shall be +nameless, yet somehow I feel myself safer in thy company than with any of them. +As for this Bletson, he is such a mere blasphemer, that I fear the Devil will +carry him away ere morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever hear such a paltry coward?” said Bletson, apart to +Everard. “Do tarry, however, mine honoured Colonel—I know your zeal +to assist the distressed, and you see Desborough is in that predicament, that +he will require near him more than one example to prevent him thinking of +ghosts and fiends.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry I cannot oblige you, gentlemen,” said Everard; +“but I have settled my mind to sleep in Victor Lee’s apartment, so +I wish you good night; and, if you would repose without disturbance, I would +advise that you commend yourselves, during the watches of the night, to Him +unto whom night is even as mid-day. I had intended to have spoke with you this +evening on the subject of my being here; but I will defer the conference till +to-morrow, when, I think, I will be able to show you excellent reasons for +leaving Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have seen plenty such already,” said Desborough; “for +one, I came here to serve the estate, with some moderate advantage to myself +for my trouble; but if I am set upon my head again to-night, as I was the night +before, I would not stay longer to gain a king’s crown; for I am sure my +neck would be unfitted to bear the weight of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night,” exclaimed Everard; and was about to go, when Bletson +again pressed close, and whispered to him, “Hark thee, Colonel—you +know my friendship for thee—I do implore thee to leave the door of thy +apartment open, that if thou meetest with any disturbance, I may hear thee +call, and be with thee upon the very instant. Do this, dear Everard, my fears +for thee will keep me awake else; for I know that, notwithstanding your +excellent sense, you entertain some of those superstitious ideas which we suck +in with our mother’s milk, and which constitute the ground of our fears +in situations like the present; therefore leave thy door open, if you love me, +that you may have ready assistance from me in case of need.” +</p> + +<p> +“My master,” said Wildrake, “trusts, first, in his Bible, +sir, and then in his good sword. He has no idea that the Devil can be baffled +by the charm of two men lying in one room, still less that the foul fiend can +be argued out of existence by the Nullifidians of the Rota.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard seized his imprudent friend by the collar, and dragged him off as he +was speaking, keeping fast hold of him till they were both in the chamber of +Victor Lee, where they had slept on a former occasion. Even then he continued +to hold Wildrake, until the servant had arranged the lights, and was dismissed +from the room; then letting him go, addressed him with the upbraiding question, +“Art thou not a prudent and sagacious person, who in times like these +seek’st every opportunity to argue yourself into a broil, or embroil +yourself in an argument? Out on you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, out on me indeed,” said the cavalier; “out on me for a +poor tame-spirited creature, that submits to be bandied about in this manner, +by a man who is neither better born nor better bred than myself. I tell thee, +Mark, you make an unfair use of your advantages over me. Why will you not let +me go from you, and live and die after my own fashion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, before we had been a week separate, I should hear of your dying +after the fashion of a dog. Come, my good friend, what madness was it in thee +to fall foul on Harrison, and then to enter into useless argument with +Bletson?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, we are in the Devil’s house, I think, and I would willingly +give the landlord his due wherever I travel. To have sent him Harrison, or +Bletson now, just as a lunch to stop his appetite, till Crom”— +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! stone walls have ears,” said Everard, looking around him. +“Here stands thy night-drink. Look to thy arms, for we must be as careful +as if the Avenger of Blood were behind us. Yonder is thy bed—and I, as +thou seest, have one prepared in the parlour. The door only divides us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which I will leave open, in case thou shouldst holla for assistance, as +yonder Nullifidian hath it—But how hast thou got all this so well put in +order, good patron?” +</p> + +<p> +“I gave the steward Tomkins notice of my purpose to sleep here.” +</p> + +<p> +“A strange fellow that,” said Wildrake, “and, as I judge, has +taken measure of every one’s foot—all seems to pass through his +hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is, I have understood,” replied Everard, “one of the men +formed by the times—has a ready gift of preaching and expounding, which +keeps him in high terms with the Independents; and recommends himself to the +more moderate people by his intelligence and activity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has his sincerity ever been doubted?” said Wildrake. +</p> + +<p> +“Never, that I heard of,” said the Colonel; “on the contrary, +he has been familiarly called Honest Joe, and Trusty Tomkins. For my part, I +believe his sincerity has always kept pace with his interest.—But come, +finish thy cup, and to bed.—What, all emptied at one draught!” +</p> + +<p> +“Adszookers, yes—my vow forbids me to make two on’t; but, +never fear—the nightcap will only warm my brain, not clog it. So, man or +devil, give me notice if you are disturbed, and rely on me in a +twinkling.” So saying, the cavalier retreated into his separate +apartment, and Colonel Everard, taking off the most cumbrous part of his dress, +lay down in his hose and doublet, and composed himself to rest. +</p> + +<p> +He was awakened from sleep by a slow and solemn strain of music, which died +away as at a distance. He started up, and felt for his arms, which he found +close beside him. His temporary bed being without curtains, he could look +around him without difficulty; but as there remained in the chimney only a few +red embers of the fire which he had arranged before he went to sleep, it was +impossible he could discern any thing. He felt, therefore, in spite of his +natural courage, that undefined and thrilling species of tremor which attends a +sense that danger is near, and an uncertainty concerning its cause and +character. Reluctant as he was to yield belief to supernatural occurrences, we +have already said he was not absolutely incredulous; as perhaps, even in this +more sceptical age, there are many fewer complete and absolute infidels on this +particular than give themselves out for such. Uncertain whether he had not +dreamed of these sounds which seemed yet in his ears, he was unwilling to risk +the raillery of his friend by summoning him to his assistance. He sat up, +therefore, in his bed, not without experiencing that nervous agitation to which +brave men as well as cowards are subject; with this difference, that the one +sinks under it, like the vine under the hailstorm, and the other collects his +energies to shake it off, as the cedar of Lebanon is said to elevate its boughs +to disperse the snow which accumulates upon them. +</p> + +<p> +The story of Harrison, in his own absolute despite, and notwithstanding a +secret suspicion which he had of trick or connivance, returned on his mind at +this dead and solitary hour. Harrison, he remembered, had described the vision +by a circumstance of its appearance different from that which his own remark +had been calculated to suggest to the mind of the visionary;—that bloody +napkin, always pressed to the side, was then a circumstance present either to +his bodily eye, or to that of his agitated imagination. Did, then, the murdered +revisit the living haunts of those who had forced them from the stage with all +their sins unaccounted for? And if they did, might not the same permission +authorise other visitations of a similar nature, to warn—to +instruct— to punish? Rash are they, was his conclusion, and credulous, +who receive as truth every tale of the kind; but no less rash may it be, to +limit the power of the Creator over the works which he has made, and to suppose +that, by the permission of the Author of Nature, the laws of Nature may not, in +peculiar cases, and for high purposes, be temporarily suspended. +</p> + +<p> +While these thoughts passed through Everard’s mind, feelings unknown to +him, even when he stood first on the rough and perilous edge of battle, gained +ground upon him. He feared he knew not what; and where an open and discernible +peril would have drawn out his courage, the absolute uncertainty of his +situation increased his sense of the danger. He felt an almost irresistible +desire to spring from his bed and heap fuel on the dying embers, expecting by +the blaze to see some strange sight in his chamber. He was also strongly +tempted to awaken Wildrake; but shame, stronger than fear itself, checked these +impulses. What! should it be thought that Markham Everard, held one of the best +soldiers who had drawn a sword in this sad war—Markham Everard, who had +obtained such distinguished rank in the army of the Parliament, though so young +in years, was afraid of remaining by himself in a twilight-room at midnight? It +never should be said. +</p> + +<p> +This was, however, no charm for his unpleasant current of thought. There rushed +on his mind the various traditions of Victor Lee’s chamber, which, though +he had often despised them as vague, unauthenticated, and inconsistent rumours, +engendered by ancient superstition, and transmitted from generation to +generation by loquacious credulity, had something in them, which, did not tend +to allay the present unpleasant state of his nerves. Then, when he recollected +the events of that very afternoon, the weapon pressed against his throat, and +the strong arm which threw him backward on the floor—if the remembrance +served to contradict the idea of flitting phantoms, and unreal daggers, it +certainly induced him to believe, that there was in some part of this extensive +mansion a party of cavaliers, or malignants, harboured, who might arise in the +night, overpower the guards, and execute upon them all, but on Harrison in +particular, as one of the regicide judges, that vengeance, which was so eagerly +thirsted for by the attached followers of the slaughtered monarch. +</p> + +<p> +He endeavoured to console himself on this subject by the number and position of +the guards, yet still was dissatisfied with himself for not having taken yet +more exact precautions, and for keeping an extorted promise of silence, which +might consign so many of his party to the danger of assassination. These +thoughts, connected with his military duties, awakened another train of +reflections. He bethought himself, that all he could now do, was to visit the +sentries, and ascertain that they were awake, alert, on the watch, and so +situated, that in time of need they might be ready to support each +other.—“This better befits me,” he thought, “than to be +here like a child, frightening myself with the old woman’s legend, which +I have laughed at when a boy. What although old Victor Lee was a sacrilegious +man, as common report goes, and brewed ale in the font which he brought from +the ancient palace of Holyrood, while church and building were in flames? And +what although his eldest son was when a child scalded to death in the same +vessel? How many churches have been demolished since his time? How many fonts +desecrated? So many indeed, that were the vengeance of Heaven to visit such +aggressions in a supernatural manner, no corner in England, no, not the most +petty parish church, but would have its apparition.—Tush, these are idle +fancies, unworthy, especially, to be entertained by those educated to believe +that sanctity resides in the intention and the act, not in the buildings or +fonts, or the form of worship.” +</p> + +<p> +As thus he called together the articles of his Calvinistic creed, the bell of +the great clock (a token seldom silent in such narratives) tolled three, and +was immediately followed by the hoarse call of the sentinels through vault and +gallery, up stairs and beneath, challenging and answering each other with the +usual watch-word, All’s Well. Their voices mingled with the deep boom of +the bell, yet ceased before that was silent, and when they had died away, the +tingling echo of the prolonged knell was scarcely audible. Ere yet that last +distant tingling had finally subsided into silence, it seemed as if it again +was awakened; and Everard could hardly judge at first whether a new echo had +taken up the falling cadence, or whether some other and separate sound was +disturbing anew the silence to which the deep knell had, as its voice ceased, +consigned the ancient mansion and the woods around it. +</p> + +<p> +But the doubt was soon cleared up. The musical tones which had mingled with the +dying echoes of the knell, seemed at first to prolong, and afterwards to +survive them. A wild strain of melody, beginning at a distance, and growing +louder as it advanced, seemed to pass from room to room, from cabinet to +gallery, from hall to bower, through the deserted and dishonoured ruins of the +ancient residence of so many sovereigns; and, as it approached, no soldier gave +alarm, nor did any of the numerous guests of various degrees, who spent an +unpleasant and terrified night in that ancient mansion, seem to dare to +announce to each other the inexplicable cause of apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +Everard’s excited state of mind did not permit him to be so passive. The +sounds approached so nigh, that it seemed they were performing, in the very +next apartment, a solemn service for the dead, when he gave the alarm, by +calling loudly to his trusty attendant and friend Wildrake, who slumbered in +the next chamber with only a door betwixt them, and even that ajar. +“Wildrake—Wildrake!—Up—Up! Dost thou not hear the +alarm?” There was no answer from Wildrake, though the musical sounds, +which now rung through the apartment, as if the performers had actually been, +within its precincts, would have been sufficient to awaken a sleeping person, +even without the shout of his comrade and patron. +</p> + +<p> +“Alarm!—Roger Wildrake—alarm!” again called Everard, +getting out of bed and grasping his weapons—“Get a light, and cry +alarm!” There was no answer. His voice died away as the sound of the +music seemed also to die; and the same soft sweet voice, which still to his +thinking resembled that of Alice Lee, was heard in his apartment, and, as he +thought, at no distance from him. +</p> + +<p> +“Your comrade will not answer,” said the low soft voice. +“Those only hear the alarm whose consciences feel the call!” +</p> + +<p> +“Again this mummery!” said Everard. “I am better armed than I +was of late; and but for the sound of that voice, the speaker had bought his +trifling dear.” +</p> + +<p> +It was singular, we may observe in passing, that the instant the distinct +sounds of the human voice were heard by Everard, all idea of supernatural +interference was at an end, and the charm by which he had been formerly +fettered appeared to be broken; so much is the influence of imaginary or +superstitious terror dependent (so far as respects strong judgments at least) +upon what is vague or ambiguous; and so readily do distinct tones, and express +ideas, bring such judgments back to the current of ordinary life. The voice +returned answer, as addressing his thoughts as well as his words. +</p> + +<p> +“We laugh at the weapons thou thinkest should terrify us—Over the +guardians of Woodstock they have no power. Fire, if thou wilt, and try the +effect of thy weapons. But know, it is not our purpose to harm thee—thou +art of a falcon breed, and noble in thy disposition, though, unreclaimed and +ill-nurtured, thou hauntest with kites and carrion crows. Wing thy flight from +hence on the morrow, for if thou tarriest with the bats, owls, vultures and +ravens, which have thought to nestle here, thou wilt inevitably share their +fate. Away then, that these halls may be swept and garnished for the reception +of those who have a better right to inhabit them.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard answered in a raised voice.—“Once more I warn you, think +not to defy me in vain. I am no child to be frightened by goblins’ tales; +and no coward, armed as I am, to be alarmed at the threats of banditti. If I +give you a moment’s indulgence, it is for the sake of dear and misguided +friends, who may be concerned with this dangerous gambol. Know, I can bring a +troop of soldiers round the castle, who will search its most inward recesses +for the author of this audacious frolic; and if that search should fail, it +will cost but a few barrels of gunpowder to make the mansion a heap of ruins, +and bury under them the authors of such an ill-judged pastime.” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak proudly, Sir Colonel,” said another voice, similar to +that harsher and stronger tone by which he had been addressed in the gallery; +“try your courage in this direction.” +</p> + +<p> +“You should not dare me twice,” said Colonel Everard, “had I +a glimpse of light to take aim by.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, a sudden gleam of light was thrown with a brilliancy which almost +dazzled the speaker, showing distinctly a form somewhat resembling that of +Victor Lee, as represented in his picture, holding in one hand a lady +completely veiled, and in the other his leading-staff, or truncheon. Both +figures were animated, and, as it appeared, standing within six feet of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Were it not for the woman,” said Everard, “I would not be +thus mortally dared.” +</p> + +<p> +“Spare not for the female form, but do your worst,” replied the +same voice. “I defy you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Repeat your defiance when I have counted thrice,” said Everard, +“and take the punishment of your insolence. Once—I have cocked my +pistol— Twice—I never missed my aim—By all that is sacred, I +fire if you do not withdraw. When I pronounce the next number, I will shoot you +dead where you stand. I am yet unwilling to shed blood—I give you another +chance of flight—once—twice—THRICE!” +</p> + +<p> +Everard aimed at the bosom, and discharged his pistol. The figure waved its arm +in an attitude of scorn; and a loud laugh arose, during which the light, as +gradually growing weaker, danced and glimmered upon the apparition of the aged +knight, and then disappeared. Everard’s life-blood ran cold to his +heart—“Had he been of human mould,” he thought, “the +bullet must have pierced him—but I have neither will nor power to fight +with supernatural beings.” +</p> + +<p> +The feeling of oppression was now so strong as to be actually sickening. He +groped his way, however, to the fireside, and flung on the embers which were +yet gleaming, a handful of dry fuel. It presently blazed, and afforded him +light to see the room in every direction. He looked cautiously, almost timidly, +around, and half expected some horrible phantom to become visible. But he saw +nothing save the old furniture, the reading desk, and other articles, which had +been left in the same state as when Sir Henry Lee departed. He felt an +uncontrollable desire, mingled with much repugnance, to look at the portrait of +the ancient knight, which the form he had seen so strongly resembled. He +hesitated betwixt the opposing feelings, but at length snatched, with desperate +resolution, the taper which he had extinguished, and relighted it, ere the +blaze of the fuel had again died away. He held it up to the ancient portrait of +Victor Lee, and gazed on it with eager curiosity, not unmingled with fear. +Almost the childish terrors of his earlier days returned, and he thought the +severe pale eye of the ancient warrior followed his, and menaced him with its +displeasure. And although he quickly argued himself out of such an absurd +belief, yet the mixed feelings of his mind were expressed in words that seemed +half addressed to the ancient portrait. +</p> + +<p> +“Soul of my mother’s ancestor,” he said, “be it for +weal or for woe, by designing men, or by supernatural beings, that these +ancient halls are disturbed, I am resolved to leave them on the morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I rejoice to hear it, with all my soul,” said a voice behind him. +</p> + +<p> +He turned, saw a tall figure in white, with a sort of turban upon its head, and +dropping the candle in the exertion, instantly grappled with it. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Thou</i> at least art palpable,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Palpable?” answered he whom he grasped so +strongly—“’Sdeath, methinks you might know that—without +the risk of choking me; and if you loose me not, I’ll show you that two +can play at the game of wrestling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Roger Wildrake!” said Everard, letting the cavalier loose, and +stepping back. +</p> + +<p> +“Roger Wildrake? ay, truly. Did you take me for Roger Bacon, come to help +you raise the devil?—for the place smells of sulphur consumedly.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the pistol I fired—Did you not hear it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes, it was the first thing waked me—for that nightcap which +I pulled on, made me sleep like a dormouse—Pshaw, I feel my brains giddy +with it yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“And wherefore came you not on the instant?—I never needed help +more.” +</p> + +<p> +“I came as fast as I could,” answered Wildrake; “but it was +some time ere I got my senses collected, for I was dreaming of that cursed +field at Naseby—and then the door of my room was shut, and hard to open, +till I played the locksmith with my foot.” +</p> + +<p> +“How! it was open when I went to bed,” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“It was locked when I came out of bed, though,” said Wildrake, +“and I marvel you heard me not when I forced it open.” +</p> + +<p> +“My mind was occupied otherwise,” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Wildrake, “but what has happened?—Here am +I bolt upright, and ready to fight, if this yawning fit will give me +leave—Mother Redcap’s mightiest is weaker than I drank last night, +by a bushel to a barleycorn—I have quaffed the very elixir of +malt—Ha—yaw.” +</p> + +<p> +“And some opiate besides, I should think,” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Very like—very like—less than the pistol-shot would not +waken me; even me, who with but an ordinary grace-cup, sleep as lightly as a +maiden on the first of May, when she watches for the earliest beam to go to +gather dew. But what are you about to do next?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” answered Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing?” said Wildrake, in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I speak it,” said Colonel Everard, “less for your +information, than for that of others who may hear me, that I will leave the +Lodge this morning, and, if it is possible, remove the Commissioners.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hark,” said Wildrake, “do you not hear some noise like the +distant sound of the applause of a theatre? The goblins of the place rejoice in +your departure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall leave Woodstock,” said Everard, “to the occupation +of my uncle Sir Henry Lee, and his family, if they choose to resume it; not +that I am frightened into this as a concession to the series of artifices which +have been played off on this occasion, but solely because such was my intention +from the beginning. But let me warn,” (he added, raising his +voice,)—“let me warn the parties concerned in this combination, +that though it may pass off successfully on a fool like Desborough, a visionary +like Harrison, a coward like Bletson”— +</p> + +<p> +Here a voice distinctly spoke, as standing near them—“or a wise, +moderate, and resolute person, like Colonel Everard.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Heaven, the voice came from the picture,” said Wildrake, +drawing his sword; “I will pink his plated armour for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Offer no violence,” said Everard, startled at the interruption, +but resuming with firmness what he was saying—“Let those engaged be +aware, that however this string of artifices may be immediately successful, it +must, when closely looked into, be attended with the punishment of all +concerned—the total demolition of Woodstock, and the irremediable +downfall of the family of Lee. Let all concerned think of this, and desist in +time.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, and almost expected a reply, but none such came. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a very odd thing,” said Wildrake; +“but—yaw-ha—my brain cannot compass it just now; it whirls +round like a toast in a bowl of muscadine; I must sit +down—haw-yaw—and discuss it at leisure— Gramercy, good +elbow-chair.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he threw himself, or rather sank gradually down on a large +easy-chair which had been often pressed by the weight of stout Sir Henry Lee, +and in an instant was sound asleep. Everard was far from feeling the same +inclination for slumber, yet his mind was relieved of the apprehension of any +farther visitation that night; for he considered his treaty to evacuate +Woodstock as made known to, and accepted in all probability by, those whom the +intrusion of the Commissioners had induced to take such singular measures for +expelling them. His opinion, which had for a time bent towards a belief in +something supernatural in the disturbances, had now returned to the more +rational mode of accounting for them by dexterous combination, for which such a +mansion as Woodstock afforded so many facilities. +</p> + +<p> +He heaped the hearth with fuel, lighted the candle, and examining poor +Wildrake’s situation, adjusted him as easily in the chair as he could, +the cavalier stirring his limbs no more than an infant. His situation went far, +in his patron’s opinion, to infer trick and confederacy, for ghosts have +no occasion to drug men’s possets. He threw himself on the bed, and while +he thought these strange circumstances over, a sweet and low strain of music +stole through the chamber, the words “Good night—good +night—good night,” thrice repeated, each time in a softer and more +distant tone, seeming to assure him that the goblins and he were at truce, if +not at peace, and that he had no more disturbance to expect that night. He had +scarcely the courage to call out a “good night;” for, after all his +conviction of the existence of a trick, it was so well performed as to bring +with it a feeling of fear, just like what an audience experience during the +performance of a tragic scene, which they know to be unreal, and which yet +affects their passions by its near approach to nature. Sleep overtook him at +last, and left him not till broad daylight on the ensuing morning. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +And yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger.<br/> +At whose approach ghosts, wandering here and there,<br/> +Troop home to churchyard. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +M<small>IDSUMMER</small> N<small>IGHT’S</small> D<small>REAM</small>. +</p> + +<p> +With the fresh air and the rising of morning, every feeling of the preceding +night had passed away from Colonel Everard’s mind, excepting wonder how +the effects which he had witnessed could be produced. He examined the whole +room, sounding bolt, floor, and wainscot with his knuckles and cane, but was +unable to discern any secret passages; while the door, secured by a strong +cross-bolt, and the lock besides, remained as firm as when he had fastened it +on the preceding evening. The apparition resembling Victor Lee next called his +attention. Ridiculous stories had been often circulated, of this figure, or one +exactly resembling it, having been met with by night among the waste apartments +and corridors of the old palace; and Markham Everard had often heard such in +his childhood. He was angry to recollect his own deficiency of courage, and the +thrill which he felt on the preceding night, when by confederacy, doubtless, +such an object was placed before his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely,” he said, “this fit of childish folly could not make +me miss my aim—more likely that the bullet had been withdrawn +clandestinely from the pistol.” +</p> + +<p> +He examined that which was undischarged—he found the bullet in it. He +investigated the apartment opposite to the point at which he had fired, and, at +five feet from the floor in a direct line between the bed-side and the place +where the appearance had been seen, a pistol-ball had recently buried itself in +the wainscot. He had little doubt, therefore, that he had fired in a just +direction; and indeed to have arrived at the place where it was lodged, the +bullet must have passed through the appearance at which he aimed, and proceeded +point blank to the wall beyond. This was mysterious, and induced him to doubt +whether the art of witchcraft or conjuration had not been called in to assist +the machinations of those daring conspirators, who, being themselves mortal, +might, nevertheless, according to the universal creed of the times, have +invoked and obtained assistance from the inhabitants of another world. +</p> + +<p> +His next investigation respected the picture of Victor Lee itself. He examined +it minutely as he stood on the floor before it, and compared its pale, shadowy, +faintly-traced outlines, its faded colours, the stern repose of the eye, and +death-like pallidness of the countenance, with its different aspect on the +preceding night, when illuminated by the artificial light which fell full upon +it, while it left every other part of the room in comparative darkness. The +features seemed then to have an unnatural glow, while the rising and falling of +the flame in the chimney gave the head and limbs something which resembled the +appearance of actual motion. Now, seen by day, it was a mere picture of the +hard and ancient school of Holbein; last night, it seemed for the moment +something more. Determined to get to the bottom of this contrivance if +possible, Everard, by the assistance of a table and chair, examined the +portrait still more closely, and endeavoured to ascertain the existence of any +private spring, by which it might be slipt aside,—a contrivance not +unfrequent in ancient buildings, which usually abounded with means of access +and escape, communicated to none but the lords of the castle, or their +immediate confidants. But the panel on which Victor Lee was painted was firmly +fixed in the wainscoting of the apartment, of which it made a part, and the +Colonel satisfied himself that it could not have been used for the purpose +which he had suspected. +</p> + +<p> +He next aroused his faithful squire, Wildrake, who, notwithstanding his deep +share of the “blessedness of sleep,” had scarce even yet got rid of +the effects of the grace-cup of the preceding evening. “It was the +reward,” according to his own view of the matter, “of his +temperance; one single draught having made him sleep more late and more sound +than a matter of half-a-dozen, or from thence to a dozen pulls, would have +done, when he was guilty of the enormity of rere-suppers,<a href="#fn16.1" name="fnref16.1" id="fnref16.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +and of drinking deep after them.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn16.1" id="fn16.1"></a> <a href="#fnref16.1">[1]</a> +Rere-suppers (<i>quasi arrière</i>) belonged to a species of luxury introduced +in the jolly days of King James’s extravagance, and continued through the +subsequent reign. The supper took place at an early hour, six or seven +o’clock at latest—the rere-supper was a postliminary banquet, a +<i>hors d’œuvre</i>, which made its appearance at ten or eleven, and +served as an apology for prolonging the entertainment till midnight. +</p> + +<p> +“Had your temperate draught,” said Everard, “been but a +thought more strongly seasoned, Wildrake, thou hadst slept so sound that the +last trump only could have waked thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“And then,” answered Wildrake, “I should have waked with a +headache, Mark; for I see my modest sip has not exempted me from that +epilogue.— But let us go forth, and see how the night, which we have +passed so strangely, has been spent by the rest of them. I suspect they are all +right willing to evacuate Woodstock, unless they have either rested better than +we, or at least been more lucky in lodgings.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, I will dispatch thee down to Joceline’s hut, to +negotiate the re-entrance of Sir Henry Lee and his family into their old +apartments, where, my interest with the General being joined with the +indifferent repute of the place itself, I think they have little chance of +being disturbed either by the present, or by any new Commissioners.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how are they to defend themselves against the fiends, my gallant +Colonel?” said Wildrake. “Methinks had I an interest in yonder +pretty girl, such as thou dost boast, I should be loth to expose her to the +terrors of a residence at Woodstock, where these devils—I beg their +pardon, for I suppose they hear every word we say—these merry +goblins—make such gay work from twilight till morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Wildrake,” said the Colonel, “I, as well as you, +believe it possible that our speech may be overheard; but I care not, and will +speak my mind plainly. I trust Sir Henry and Alice are not engaged in this +silly plot; I cannot reconcile it with the pride of the one, the modesty of the +other, nor the good sense of both, that any motive could engage them in so +strange a conjunction. But the fiends are all of your own political persuasion, +Wildrake, all true-blue cavaliers; and I am convinced, that Sir Henry and Alice +Lee, though they be unconnected with them, have not the slightest cause to be +apprehensive of their goblin machinations. Besides, Sir Henry and Joceline must +know every corner about the place: it will be far more difficult to play off +any ghostly machinery upon him than upon strangers. But let us to our toilet, +and when water and brush have done their work, we will enquire—what is +next to be done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, that wretched puritan’s garb of mine is hardly worth +brushing,” said Wildrake; “and but for this hundred-weight of rusty +iron, with which thou hast bedizened me, I look more like a bankrupt Quaker +than anything else. But I’ll make <i>you</i> as spruce as ever was a +canting rogue of your party.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, and humming at the same time the cavalier tune,— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Though for a time we see Whitehall<br/> +With cobwebs hung around the wall,<br/> +Yet Heaven shall make amends for all.<br/> + When the King shall enjoy his own again.”— +</p> + +<p> +“Thou forgettest who are without,” said Colonel Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“No—I remember who are within,” replied his friend. “I +only sing to my merry goblins, who will like me all the better for it. Tush, +man, the devils are my <i>bonos socios</i>, and when I see them, I will warrant +they prove such roaring boys as I knew when I served under Lunford and Goring, +fellows with long nails that nothing escaped, bottomless stomachs, that nothing +filled,—mad for pillaging, ranting, drinking, and +fighting,—sleeping rough on the trenches, and dying stubbornly in their +boots. Ah! those merry days are gone. Well, it is the fashion to make a grave +face on’t among cavaliers, and specially the parsons that have lost their +tithe-pigs; but I was fitted for the element of the time, and never did or can +desire merrier days than I had during that same barbarous, bloody, and +unnatural rebellion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou wert ever a wild sea-bird, Roger, even according to your name; +liking the gale better than the calm, the boisterous ocean better than the +smooth lake, and your rough, wild struggle against the wind, than daily food, +ease and quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw! a fig for your smooth lake, and your old woman to feed me with +brewer’s grains, and the poor drake obliged to come swattering whenever +she whistles! Everard, I like to feel the wind rustle against my +pinions,—now diving, now on the crest of the wave, now in ocean, now in +sky—that is the wild-drake’s joy, my grave one! And in the Civil +War so it went with us—down in one county, up in another, beaten to-day, +victorious tomorrow—now starving in some barren leaguer—now +revelling in a Presbyterian’s pantry—his cellars, his plate-chest, +his old judicial thumb-ring, his pretty serving-wench, all at command!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, friend,” said Everard; “remember I hold that +persuasion.” “More the pity, Mark, more the pity,” said +Wildrake; “but, as you say, it is needless talking of it. Let us +e’en go and see how your Presbyterian pastor, Mr. Holdenough, has fared, +and whether he has proved more able to foil the foul Fiend than have you his +disciple and auditor.” +</p> + +<p> +They left the apartment accordingly, and were overwhelmed with the various +incoherent accounts of sentinels and others, all of whom had seen or heard +something extraordinary in the course of the night. It is needless to describe +particularly the various rumours which each contributed to the common stock, +with the greater alacrity that in such cases there seems always to be a sort of +disgrace in not having seen or suffered as much as others. +</p> + +<p> +The most moderate of the narrators only talked of sounds like the mewing of a +cat, or the growling of a dog, especially the squeaking of a pig. They heard +also as if it had been nails driven and saws used, and the clashing of fetters, +and the rustling of silk gowns, and the notes of music, and in short all sorts +of sounds which have nothing to do with each other. Others swore they had smelt +savours of various kinds, chiefly bituminous, indicating a Satanic derivation; +others did not indeed swear, but protested, to visions of men in armour, horses +without heads, asses with horns, and cows with six legs, not to mention black +figures, whose cloven hoofs gave plain information what realm they belonged to. +</p> + +<p> +But these strongly-attested cases of nocturnal disturbances among the sentinels +had been so general as to prevent alarm and succour on any particular point, so +that those who were on duty called in vain on the <i>corps-de-garde</i>, who +were trembling on their own post; and an alert enemy might have done complete +execution on the whole garrison. But amid this general <i>alerte</i>, no +violence appeared to be meant, and annoyance, not injury, seemed to have been +the goblins’ object, excepting in the case of one poor fellow, a trooper, +who had followed Harrison in half his battles, and now was sentinel in that +very vestibule upon which Everard had recommended them to mount a guard. He had +presented his carabine at something which came suddenly upon him, when it was +wrested out of his hands, and he himself knocked down with the butt-end of it. +His broken head, and the drenched bedding of Desborough, upon whom a tub of +ditch-water had been emptied during his sleep, were the only pieces of real +evidence to attest the disturbances of the night. +</p> + +<p> +The reports from Harrison’s apartment were, as delivered by the grave +Master Tomkins, that truly the General had passed the night undisturbed, though +there was still upon him a deep sleep, and a folding of the hands to slumber; +from which Everard argued that the machinators had esteemed Harrison’s +part of the reckoning sufficiently paid off on the preceding evening. +</p> + +<p> +He then proceeded to the apartment doubly garrisoned by the worshipful +Desborough, and the philosophical Bletson. They were both up and dressing +themselves; the former open-mouthed in his feeling of fear and suffering. +Indeed, no sooner had Everard entered, than the ducked and dismayed Colonel +made a dismal complaint of the way he had spent the night, and murmured not a +little against his worshipful kinsman for imposing a task upon him which +inferred so much annoyance. +</p> + +<p> +“Could not his Excellency, my kinsman Noll,” he said, “have +given his poor relative and brother-in-law a sop somewhere else than out of +this Woodstock, which seems to be the devil’s own porridge-pot? I cannot +sup broth with the devil; I have no long spoon—not I. Could he not have +quartered me in some quiet corner, and given this haunted place to some of his +preachers and prayers, who know the Bible as well as the muster-roll? whereas I +know the four hoofs of a clean-going nag, or the points of a team of oxen, +better than all the books of Moses. But I will give it over, at once and for +ever; hopes of earthly gain shall never make me run the risk of being carried +away bodily by the devil, besides being set upon my head one whole night, and +soused with ditch-water the next—No, no; I am too wise for that.” +</p> + +<p> +Master Bletson had a different part to act. He complained of no personal +annoyances; on the contrary, he declared he should have slept as well as ever +he did in his life but for the abominable disturbances around him, of men +calling to arms every half hour, when so much as a cat trotted by one of their +posts—He would rather, he said, “have slept among a whole sabaoth +of witches, if such creatures could be found.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you think there are no such things as apparitions, Master +Bletson?” said Everard. “I used to be sceptical on the subject; +but, on my life, to-night has been a strange one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dreams, dreams, dreams, my simple Colonel,” said Bletson, though, +his pale face and shaking limbs belied the assumed courage with which he spoke. +“Old Chaucer, sir, hath told us the real moral on’t—He was an +old frequenter of the forest of Woodstock, here”— +</p> + +<p> +“Chaser?” said Desborough; “some huntsman, belike, by his +name. Does he walk, like Hearne at Windsor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Chaucer,” said Bletson, “my dear Desborough, is one of those +wonderful fellows, as Colonel Everard knows, who live many a hundred years +after they are buried, and whose words haunt our ears after their bones are +long mouldered in the dust.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay! well,” answered Desborough, to whom this description of +the old poet was unintelligible—“I for one desire his room rather +than his company; one of your conjurors, I warrant him. But what says he to the +matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only a slight spell, which I will take the freedom to repeat to Colonel +Everard,” said Bletson; “but which would be as bad as Greek to +thee, Desborough. Old Geoffrey lays the whole blame of our nocturnal +disturbance on superfluity of humours, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Which causen folk to dred in their dreams<br/> +Of arrowes, and of fire with red gleams,<br/> +Right as the humour of melancholy<br/> +Causeth many a man in sleep to cry<br/> +For fear of great bulls and bears black,<br/> +And others that black devils will them take.’” +</p> + +<p> +While he was thus declaiming, Everard observed a book sticking out from beneath +the pillow of the bed lately occupied by the honourable member. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that Chaucer?” he said, making to the volume; “I would +like to look at the passage”— +</p> + +<p> +“Chaucer?” said Bletson, hastening to interfere; +“no—that is Lucretius, my darling Lucretius. I cannot let you see +it; I have some private marks.” +</p> + +<p> +But by this time Everard had the book in his hand. “Lucretius?” he +said; “no, Master Bletson, this is not Lucretius, but a fitter comforter +in dread or in danger—Why should you be ashamed of it? Only, Bletson, +instead of resting your head, if you can but anchor your heart upon this +volume, it may serve you in better stead than Lucretius or Chaucer +either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what book is it?” said Bletson, his pale cheek colouring with +the shame of detection. “Oh! the Bible!” throwing it down +contemptuously; “some book of my fellow Gibeon’s; these Jews have +been always superstitious—ever since Juvenal’s time, thou +knowest— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Qualiacunque voles Judæi somnia vendunt.’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“He left me the old book for a spell, I warrant you; for ’tis a +well-meaning fool.” +</p> + +<p> +“He would scarce have left the New Testament as well as the Old,” +said Everard. “Come, my dear Bletson, do not be ashamed of the wisest +thing you ever did in your life, supposing you took your Bible in an hour of +apprehension, with a view to profit by the contents.” +</p> + +<p> +Bletson’s vanity was so much galled that it overcame his constitutional +cowardice. His little thin fingers quivered for eagerness, his neck and cheeks +were as red as scarlet, and his articulation was as thick and vehement +as—in short, as if he had been no philosopher. +</p> + +<p> +“Master Everard,” he said, “you are a man of the sword, sir; +and, sir, you seem to suppose yourself entitled to say whatever comes into your +mind with respect to civilians, sir. But I would have you remember, sir, that +there are bounds beyond which human patience may be urged, sir—and jests +which no man of honour will endure, sir—and therefore I expect an apology +for your present language, Colonel Everard, and this unmannerly jesting, +sir—or you may chance to hear from me in a way that will not please +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard could not help smiling at this explosion of valour, engendered by +irritated self-love. +</p> + +<p> +“Look you, Master Bletson,” he said, “I have been a soldier, +that is true, but I was never a bloody-minded one; and, as a Christian, I am +unwilling to enlarge the kingdom of darkness by sending a new vassal thither +before his time. If Heaven gives you time to repent, I see no reason why my +hand should deprive you of it, which, were we to have a rencontre, would be +your fate in the thrust of a sword, or the pulling of a trigger—I +therefore prefer to apologise; and I call Desborough, if he has recovered his +wits, to bear evidence that I <i>do</i> apologise for having suspected you, who +are completely the slave of your own vanity, of any tendency, however slight, +towards grace or good sense. And I farther apologise for the time that I have +wasted in endeavouring to wash an Ethiopian white, or in recommending rational +enquiry to a self-willed atheist.” +</p> + +<p> +Bletson, overjoyed at the turn the matter had taken—for the defiance was +scarce out of his mouth ere he began to tremble for the +consequences—answered with great eagerness and servility of +manner,—“Nay, dearest Colonel, say no more of it—an apology +is all that is necessary among men of honour—it neither leaves dishonour +with him who asks it, nor infers degradation on him who makes it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not such an apology as I have made, I trust,” said the Colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no—not in the least,” answered Bletson,—“one +apology serves me just as well as another, and Desborough will bear witness you +have made one, and that is all there can be said on the subject.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Desborough and you,” rejoined the Colonel, “will take +care how the matter is reported, I dare say; and I only recommend to both, +that, if mentioned at all, it may be told correctly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, we will not mention it at all,” said Bletson, “we +will forget it from this moment. Only, never suppose me capable of +superstitious weakness. Had I been afraid of an apparent and real +danger—why such fear is natural to man—and I will not deny that the +mood of mind may have happened to me as well as to others. But to be thought +capable of resorting to spells, and sleeping with books under my pillow to +secure myself against ghosts,—on my word, it was enough to provoke one to +quarrel, for the moment, with his very best friend.—And now, Colonel, +what is to be done, and how is our duty to be executed at this accursed place? +If I should get such a wetting as Desborough’s, why I should die of +catarrh, though you see it hurts him no more than a bucket of water thrown over +a post-horse. You are, I presume, a brother in our commission,—how are +you of opinion we should proceed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, in good time here comes Harrison,” said Everard, “and I +will lay my commission from the Lord-General before you all; which, as you see, +Colonel Desborough, commands you to desist from acting on your present +authority, and intimates his pleasure accordingly, that you withdraw from this +place.” +</p> + +<p> +Desborough took the paper and examined the signature.—“It is +Noll’s signature sure enough,” said he, dropping his under jaw; +“only, every time of late he has made the <i>Oliver</i> as large as a +giant, while the <i>Cromwell</i> creeps after like a dwarf, as if the surname +were like to disappear one of these days altogether. But is his Excellency, our +kinsman, Noll Cromwell (since he has the surname yet) so unreasonable as to +think his relations and friends are to be set upon their heads till they have +the crick in their neck—drenched as if they had been plunged in a +horse-pond—frightened, day and night, by all sort of devils, witches, and +fairies, and get not a penny of smart-money? Adzooks, (forgive me for +swearing,) if that’s the case I had better home to my farm, and mind team +and herd, than dangle after such a thankless person, though I <i>have</i> wived +his sister. She was poor enough when I took her, for as high as Noll holds his +head now.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not my purpose,” said Bletson, “to stir debate in this +honourable meeting; and no one will doubt the veneration and attachment which I +bear to our noble General, whom the current of events, and his own matchless +qualities of courage and constancy, have raised so high in these deplorable +days.—If I were to term him a direct and immediate emanation of the +<i>Animus Mundi</i> itself—something which Nature had produced in her +proudest hour, while exerting herself, as is her law, for the preservation of +the creatures to whom she has given existence— should scarce exhaust the +ideas which I entertain of him. Always protesting that I am by no means to be +held as admitting, but merely as granting for the sake of argument, the +possible existence of that species of emanation, or exhalation, from the +<i>Animus Mundi</i> , of which I have made mention. I appeal to you, Colonel +Desborough, who are his Excellency’s relation—to you, Colonel +Everard, who hold the dearer title of his friend, whether I have overrated my +zeal in his behalf?” +</p> + +<p> +Everard bowed at this pause, but Desborough gave a more complete +authentication. “Nay, I can bear witness to that. I have seen when you +were willing to tie his points or brush his cloak, or the like—and to be +treated thus ungratefully—and gudgeoned of the opportunities which had +been given you”— +</p> + +<p> +“It is not for that,” said Bletson, waving his hand gracefully. +“You do me wrong, Master Desborough—you do indeed, kind +sir—although I know you meant it not—No, sir—no partial +consideration of private interest prevailed on me to undertake this charge. It +was conferred on me by the Parliament of England, in whose name this war +commenced, and by the Council of State, who are the conservators of +England’s liberty. And the chance and serene hope of serving the country, +the confidence that I—and you, Master Desborough—and you, worthy +General Harrison— superior, as I am, to all selfish +considerations—to which I am sure you also, good Colonel Everard, would +be superior, had you been named in this Commission, as I would to Heaven you +had—I say, the hope of serving the country, with the aid of such +respectable associates, one and all of them—as well as you, Colonel +Everard, supposing you to have been of the number, induced me to accept of this +opportunity, whereby I might, gratuitously, with your assistance, render so +much advantage to our dear mother the Commonwealth of England.—Such was +my hope—my trust—my confidence. And now comes my +Lord-General’s warrant to dissolve the authority by which we are entitled +to act. Gentlemen, I ask this honourable meeting, (with all respect to his +Excellency,) whether his Commission be paramount to that from which he himself +directly holds his commission? No one will say so. I ask whether he has climbed +into the seat from which the late Man descended, or hath a great seal, or means +to proceed by prerogative in such a case? I cannot see reason to believe it, +and therefore I must resist such doctrine. I am in your judgment, my brave and +honourable colleagues; but, touching my own poor opinion, I feel myself under +the unhappy necessity of proceeding in our commission, as if the interruption +had not taken place; with this addition, that the Board of Sequestrators should +sit, by day, at this same Lodge of Woodstock, but that, to reconcile the minds +of weak brethren, who may be afflicted by superstitious rumours, as well as to +avoid any practice on our persons by the malignants, who, I am convinced, are +busy in this neighbourhood, we should remove our sittings after sunset to the +George Inn, in the neighbouring borough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Master Bletson,” replied Colonel Everard, “it is not +for me to reply to you; but you may know in what characters this army of +England and their General write their authority. I fear me the annotation on +this precept of the General, will be expressed by the march of a troop of horse +from Oxford to see it executed. I believe there are orders out for that effect; +and you know by late experience, that the soldier will obey his General equally +against King and Parliament.” +</p> + +<p> +“That obedience is conditional,” said Harrison, starting fiercely +up. “Know’st thou not, Markham Everard, that I have followed the +man Cromwell as close as the bull-dog follows his master?—and so I will +yet;—but I am no spaniel, either to be beaten, or to have the food I have +earned snatched from me, as if I were a vile cur, whose wages are a whipping, +and free leave to wear my own skin. I looked, amongst the three of us, that we +might honestly, and piously, and with advantage to the Commonwealth, have +gained out of this commission three, or it may be five thousand pounds. And +does Cromwell imagine I will part with it for a rough word? No man goeth a +warfare on his own charges. He that serves the altar must live by the +altar—and the saints must have means to provide them with good harness +and fresh horses against the unsealing and the pouring forth. Does Cromwell +think I am so much of a tame tiger as to permit him to rend from me at pleasure +the miserable dole he hath thrown me? Of a surety I will resist; and the men +who are here, being chiefly of my own regiment—men who wait, and who +expect, with lamps burning and loins girded, and each one his weapon bound upon +his thigh, will aid me to make this house good against every assault—ay, +even against Cromwell himself, until the latter coming—Selah! +Selah!”— +</p> + +<p> +“And I,” said Desborough, “will levy troops and protect your +out-quarters, not choosing at present to close myself up in +garrison”— +</p> + +<p> +“And I,” said Bletson, “will do my part, and hie me to town +and lay the matter before Parliament, arising in my place for that +effect.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard was little moved by all these threats. The only formidable one, indeed, +was that of Harrison, whose enthusiasm, joined with his courage, and obstinacy, +and character among the fanatics of his own principles, made him a dangerous +enemy. Before trying any arguments with the refractory Major-General, Everard +endeavoured to moderate his feelings, and threw something in about the late +disturbances. +</p> + +<p> +“Talk not to me of supernatural disturbances, young man—talk not to +me of enemies in the body or out of the body. Am I not the champion chosen and +commissioned to encounter and to conquer the great Dragon, and the Beast which +cometh out of the sea? Am I not to command the left wing, and two regiments of +the centre, when the Saints shall encounter with the countless legions of Grog +and Magog? I tell thee that my name is written on the sea of glass mingled with +fire, and that I will keep this place of Woodstock against all mortal men, and +against all devils, whether in field or chamber, in the forest or in the +meadow, even till the Saints reign in the fulness of their glory.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard saw it was then time to produce two or three lines under +Cromwell’s hand, which he had received from the General, subsequently to +the communication through Wildrake. The information they contained was +calculated to allay the disappointment of the Commissioners. This document +assigned as the reason of superseding the Woodstock Commission, that he should +probably propose to the Parliament to require the assistance of General +Harrison, Colonel Desborough, and Master Bletson, the honourable member for +Littlefaith, in a much greater matter, namely, the disposing of the royal +property, and disparking of the King’s forest at Windsor. So soon as this +idea was started, all parties pricked up their ears; and their drooping, and +gloomy, and vindictive looks began to give place to courteous smiles, and to a +cheerfulness, which laughed in their eyes, and turned their mustaches upwards. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Desborough acquitted his right honourable and excellent cousin and +kinsman of all species of unkindness; Master Bletson discovered, that the +interest of the state was trebly concerned in the good administration of +Windsor more than in that of Woodstock. As for Harrison, he exclaimed, without +disguise or hesitation, that the gleaning of the grapes of Windsor was better +than the vintage of Woodstock. Thus speaking, the glance of his dark eye +expressed as much triumph in the proposed earthly advantage, as if it had not +been, according to his vain persuasion, to be shortly exchanged for his share +in the general reign of the Millennium. His delight, in short, resembled the +joy of an eagle, who preys upon a lamb in the evening with not the less relish, +because she descries in the distant landscape an hundred thousand men about to +join battle with daybreak, and to give her an endless feast on the hearts and +lifeblood of the valiant. Yet though all agreed that they would be obedient to +the General’s pleasure in this matter, Bletson proposed, as a +precautionary measure, in which all agreed, that they should take up their +abode for some time in the town of Woodstock, to wait for their new commissions +respecting Windsor; and this upon the prudential consideration, that it was +best not to slip one knot until another was first tied. +</p> + +<p> +Each Commissioner, therefore, wrote to Oliver individually, stating, in his own +way, the depth and height, length and breadth, of his attachment to him. Each +expressed himself resolved to obey the General’s injunctions to the +uttermost; but with the same scrupulous devotion to the Parliament, each found +himself at a loss how to lay down the commission intrusted to them by that +body, and therefore felt bound in conscience to take up his residence at the +borough of Woodstock, that he might not seem to abandon the charge committed to +them, until they should be called to administrate the weightier matter of +Windsor, to which they expressed their willingness instantly to devote +themselves, according to his Excellency’s pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +This was the general style of their letters, varied by the characteristic +flourishes of the writers. Desborough, for example, said something about the +religious duty of providing for one’s own household, only he blundered +the text. Bletson wrote long and big words about the political obligation +incumbent on every member of the community, on every person, to sacrifice his +time and talents to the service of his country; while Harrison talked of the +littleness of present affairs, in comparison of the approaching tremendous +change of all things beneath the sun. But although the garnishing of the +various epistles was different, the result came to the same, that they were +determined at least to keep sight of Woodstock, until they were well assured of +some better and more profitable commission. +</p> + +<p> +Everard also wrote a letter in the most grateful terms to Cromwell, which would +probably have been less warm had he known more distinctly than his follower +chose to tell him, the expectation under which the wily General had granted his +request. He acquainted his Excellency with his purpose of continuing at +Woodstock, partly to assure himself of the motions of the three Commissioners, +and to watch whether they did not again enter upon the execution of the trust, +which they had for the present renounced,—and partly to see that some +extraordinary circumstances, which had taken place in the Lodge, and which +would doubtless transpire, were not followed by any explosion to the +disturbance of the public peace. He knew (as he expressed himself) that his +Excellency was so much the friend of order, that he would rather disturbances +or insurrections were prevented than punished; and he conjured the General to +repose confidence in his exertions for the public service by every mode within +his power; not aware, it will be observed, in what peculiar sense his general +pledge might be interpreted. +</p> + +<p> +These letters being made up into a packet, were forwarded to Windsor by a +trooper, detached on that errand. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +We do that in our zeal,<br/> +Our calmer moments are afraid to answer. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +A<small>NONYMOUS</small>. +</p> + +<p> +While the Commissioners were preparing to remove themselves from the Lodge to +the inn at the borough of Woodstock, with all that state and bustle which +attend the movements of great persons, and especially of such to whom greatness +is not entirely familiar, Everard held some colloquy with the Presbyterian +clergyman, Master Holdenough, who had issued from the apartment which he had +occupied, as it were in defiance of the spirits by whom the mansion was +supposed to be disturbed, and whose pale cheek, and pensive brow, gave token +that he had not passed the night more comfortably than the other inmates of the +Lodge of Woodstock. Colonel Everard having offered to procure the reverend +gentleman some refreshment, received this reply:—“This day shall I +not taste food, saving that which we are assured of as sufficient for our +sustenance, where it is promised that our bread shall be given us, and our +water shall be sure. Not that I fast, in the papistical opinion that it adds to +those merits, which are but an accumulation of filthy rags; but because I hold +it needful that no grosser sustenance should this day cloud my understanding, +or render less pure and vivid the thanks I owe to Heaven for a most wonderful +preservation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Holdenough,” said Everard, “you are, I know, both a +good man and a bold one, and I saw you last night courageously go upon your +sacred duty, when soldiers, and tried ones, seemed considerably alarmed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too courageous—too venturous” was Master Holdenough’s +reply, the boldness of whose aspect seemed completely to have died away. +“We are frail creatures, Master Everard, and frailest when we think +ourselves strongest. Oh, Colonel Everard,” he added, after a pause, and +as if the confidence was partly involuntary, “I have seen that which I +shall never survive!” +</p> + +<p> +“You surprise me, reverend sir,” said Everard;—“may I +request you will speak more plainly? I have heard some stories of this wild +night, nay, have witnessed strange things myself; but, methinks, I would be +much interested in knowing the nature of your disturbance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said the clergyman, “you are a discreet gentleman; and +though I would not willingly that these heretics, schismatics, Brownists, +Muggletonians, Anabaptists, and so forth, had such an opportunity of triumph, +as my defeat in this matter would have afforded them, yet with you, who have +been ever a faithful follower of our Church, and are pledged to the good cause +by the great National League and Covenant, surely I would be more open. Sit we +down, therefore, and let me call for a glass of pure water, for as yet I feel +some bodily faltering; though, I thank Heaven, I am in mind resolute and +composed as a merely mortal man may after such a vision.—They say, worthy +Colonel, that looking on such things foretells, or causes, speedy death—I +know not if it be true; but if so, I only depart like the tired sentinel when +his officer releases him from his post; and glad shall I be to close these +wearied eyes against the sight, and shut these harassed ears against the +croaking, as of frogs, of Antinomians, and Pelagians, and Socinians, and +Arminians, and Arians, and Nullifidians, which have come up into our England, +like those filthy reptiles into the house of Pharaoh.” +</p> + +<p> +Here one of the servants who had been summoned, entered with a cup of water, +gazing at the same time in the face of the clergyman, as if his stupid grey +eyes were endeavouring to read what tragic tale was written on his brow; and +shaking his empty skull as he left the room, with the air of one who was proud +of having discovered that all was not exactly right, though he could not so +well guess what was wrong. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Everard invited the good man to take some refreshment more genial than +the pure element, but he declined: “I am in some sort a champion” +he said; “and though I have been foiled in the late controversy with the +Enemy, still I have my trumpet to give the alarm, and my sharp sword to smite +withal; therefore, like the Nazarites of old, I will eat nothing that cometh of +the vine, neither drink wine nor strong drink, until these my days of combat +shall have passed away.” +</p> + +<p> +Kindly and respectfully the Colonel anew pressed Master Holdenough to +communicate the events that had befallen him on the preceding night; and the +good clergyman proceeded as follows, with that little characteristic touch of +vanity in his narrative, which naturally arose out of the part he had played in +the world, and the influence which he had exercised over the minds of others. +“I was a young man at the University of Cambridge,” he said, +“when I was particularly bound in friendship to a fellow-student, perhaps +because we were esteemed (though it is vain to mention it) the most hopeful +scholars at our college; and so equally advanced, that it was difficult, +perhaps, to say which was the greater proficient in his studies. Only our +tutor, Master Purefoy, used to say, that if my comrade had the advantage of me +in gifts, I had the better of him in grace; for he was attached to the profane +learning of the classics, always unprofitable, often impious and impure; and I +had light enough to turn my studies into the sacred tongues. Also we differed +in our opinions touching the Church of England, for he held Arminian opinions, +with Laud, and those who would connect our ecclesiastical establishment with +the civil, and make the Church dependent on the breath of an earthly man. In +fine, he favoured Prelacy both in essentials and ceremonial; and although, we +parted with tears and embraces, it was to follow very different courses. He +obtained a living, and became a great controversial writer in behalf of the +Bishops and of the Court. I also, as is well known to you, to the best of my +poor abilities, sharpened my pen in the cause of the poor oppressed people, +whose tender consciences rejected the rites and ceremonies more befitting a +papistical than a reformed Church, and which, according to the blinded policy +of the Court, were enforced by pains and penalties. Then came the Civil War, +and I—called thereunto by my conscience, and nothing fearing or +suspecting what miserable consequences have chanced through the rise of these +Independents—consented to lend my countenance and labour to the great +work, by becoming chaplain to Colonel Harrison’s regiment. Not that I +mingled with carnal weapons in the field—which Heaven forbid that a +minister of the altar should—but I preached, exhorted, and, in time of +need, was a surgeon, as well to the wounds of the body as of the soul. Now, it +fell, towards the end of the war, that a party of malignants had seized on a +strong house in the shire of Shrewsbury, situated on a small island advanced +into a lake, and accessible only by a small and narrow causeway. From thence +they made excursions, and vexed the country; and high time it was to suppress +them, so that a part of our regiment went to reduce them; and I was requested +to go, for they were few in number to take in so strong a place, and the +Colonel judged that my exhortations would make them do valiantly. And so, +contrary to my wont, I went forth with them, even to the field, where there was +valiant fighting on both sides. Nevertheless, the malignants shooting their +wall-pieces at us, had so much the advantage, that, after bursting their gates +with a salvo of our cannon, Colonel Harrison ordered his men to advance on the +causeway, and try to carry the place by storm. Nonetheless, although our men +did valiantly, advancing in good order, yet being galled on every side by the +fire, they at length fell into disorder, and were retreating with much loss, +Harrison himself valiantly bringing up the rear, and defending them as he could +against the enemy, who sallied forth in pursuit of them, to smite them hip and +thigh. Now, Colonel Everard, I am a man of a quick and vehement temper by +nature, though better teaching than the old law hath made me mild and patient +as you now see me. I could not bear to see our Israelites flying before the +Philistines, so I rushed upon the causeway, with the Bible in one hand, and a +halberd, which I had caught up, in the other, and turned back the foremost +fugitives, by threatening to strike them down, pointing out to them at the same +time a priest in his cassock, as they call it, who was among the malignants, +and asking them whether they would not do as much for a true servant of Heaven, +as the uncircumcised would for a priest of Baal. My words and strokes +prevailed; they turned at once, and shouting out, Down with Baal and his +worshippers! they charged the malignants so unexpectedly home, that they not +only drove them back into their house of garrison, but entered it with them, as +the phrase is, pell-mell. I also was there, partly hurried on by the crowd, +partly to prevail on our enraged soldiers to give quarter; for it grieved my +heart to see Christians and Englishmen hashed down with swords and gunstocks, +like curs in the street, when there is an alarm of mad-dogs. In this way, the +soldiers fighting and slaughtering, and I calling to them to stay their hand, +we gained the very roof of the building, which was in part leaded, and to +which, as a last tower of refuge, those of the cavaliers, who yet escaped, had +retired. I was myself, I may say, forced up the narrow winding staircase by our +soldiers, who rushed on like dogs of chase upon their prey; and when extricated +from the passage, I found myself in the midst of a horrid scene. The scattered +defenders were, some resisting with the fury of despair; some on their knees, +imploring for compassion in words and tones to break a man’s heart when +he thinks on them; some were calling on God for mercy; and it was time, for man +had none. They were stricken down, thrust through, flung from the battlements +into the lake; and the wild cries of the victors, mingled with the groans, +shrieks, and clamours, of the vanquished, made a sound so horrible, that only +death can erase it from my memory. And the men who butchered their +fellow-creatures thus, were neither pagans from distant savage lands, nor +ruffians, the refuse and offscourings of our own people. They were in calm +blood reasonable, nay, religious men, maintaining a fair repute both heavenward +and earthward. Oh, Master Everard, your trade of war should be feared and +avoided, since it converts such men into wolves towards their fellow +creatures.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a stern necessity,” said Everard, looking down, “and +as such alone is justifiable. But proceed, reverend sir; I see not how this +storm, an incident but e’en too frequent on both sides during the late +war, connects with the affair of last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall hear anon,” said Mr. Holdenough; then paused as one who +makes an effort to compose himself before continuing a relation, the tenor of +which agitated him with much violence. “In this infernal tumult,” +he resumed,—“for surely nothing on earth could so much resemble +hell, as when men go thus loose in mortal malice on their +fellow-creatures,—I saw the same priest whom I had distinguished on the +causeway, with one or two other malignants, pressed into a corner by the +assailants, and defending themselves to the last, as those who had no +hope.—I saw him—I knew him—Oh, Colonel Everard!” +</p> + +<p> +He grasped Everard’s hand with his own left hand, and pressed the palm of +his right to his face and forehead, sobbing aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“It was your college companion?” said Everard, anticipating the +catastrophe. +</p> + +<p> +“Mine ancient—mine only friend—with whom I had spent the +happy days of youth!—I rushed forward—I struggled—I +entreated.—But my eagerness left me neither voice nor language—all +was drowned in the wretched cry which I had myself raised—Down with the +priest of Baal! Slay Mattan— slay him were he between the +altars!—Forced over the battlements, but struggling for life, I could see +him cling to one of those projections which were formed to carry the water from +the leads, but they hacked at his arms and hands. I heard the heavy fall into +the bottomless abyss below. Excuse me—I cannot go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“He may have escaped.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! no, no, no—the tower was four stories in height. Even those +who threw themselves into the lake from the lower windows, to escape by +swimming, had no safety; for mounted troopers on the shore caught the same +bloodthirsty humour which had seized the storming party, galloped around the +margin of the lake, and shot those who were struggling for life in the water, +or cut them down as they strove to get to land. They were all cut off and +destroyed.—Oh! may the blood shed on that day remain silent!—Oh! +that the earth may receive it in her recesses!—Oh! that it may be mingled +for ever with the dark waters of that lake, so that it may never cry for +vengeance against those whose anger was fierce, and who slaughtered in their +wrath!—And, oh! may the erring man be forgiven who came into their +assembly, and lent his voice to encourage their, cruelty!—Oh! Albany, my +brother, my brother, I have lamented for thee even as David for +Jonathan!”<a href="#fn17.1" name="fnref17.1" id="fnref17.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn17.1" id="fn17.1"></a> <a href="#fnref17.1">[1]</a> +Michael Hudson, the <i>plain-dealing</i> chaplain of King Charles I., +resembled, in his loyalty to that unfortunate monarch, the fictitious character +of Dr. Rochecliffe; and the circumstances of his death were copied in the +narrative of the Presbyterian’s account of the slaughter of his +school-fellow;—he was chosen by Charles I., along with John Ashburnham, +as his guide and attendant, when he adopted the ill-advised resolution of +surrendering his person to the Scots army.<br/> + He was taken prisoner by the Parliament, remained long in their custody, +and was treated with great severity. He made his escape for about a year in +1647; was retaken, and again escaped in 1648. and heading an insurrection of +cavaliers, seized on a strong moated house in Lincolnshire, called Woodford +House. He gained the place without resistance; and there are among Peck’s +Desiderata Curiosa several accounts of his death, among which we shall +transcribe that of Bishop Kenneth, as the most correct, and +concise:—“I have been on the spot,” saith his Lordship, +“and made all possible enquiries, and find that the relation given by Mr. +Wood may be a little rectified and supplied.<br/> + “Mr. Hudson and his party did not fly to Woodford, but had quietly +taken possession of it, and held it for a garrison, with a good party of horse, +who made a stout defence, and frequent sallies, against a party of the +Parliament at Stamford, till the colonel commanding them sent a stronger +detachment, under a captain, his own kinsman, who was shot from the house, upon +which the colonel himself came up to renew the attack, and to demand surrender, +and brought them to capitulate upon terms of safe quarter. But the colonel, in +base revenge, commanded that they should not spare that rogue Hudson. Upon +which, Hudson fought his way up to the leads; and when he saw they were pushing +in upon him, threw himself over the battlements (another account says, he +caught hold of a spout or outstone,) and hung by the hands, as intending to +fall into the moat beneath, till they cut off his wrists and let him drop, and +then ran down to hunt him in the water, where they found him paddling with his +stumps, and barbarously knocked him on the head.”—<i>Peck’s +Desiderata Curiosa</i>, Book ix.<br/> + Other accounts mention he was refused the poor charity of coming to die on +land, by one Egborough, servant to Mr. Spinks, the intruder into the parsonage. +A man called Walker, a chandler or grocer, cut out the tongue of the +unfortunate divine, and showed it as a trophy through the country. But it was +remarked, with vindictive satisfaction, that Egborough was killed by the +bursting of his own gun; and that Walker, obliged to abandon his trade through +poverty, became a scorned mendicant.<br/> + For some time a grave was not vouchsafed to the remains of this brave and +loyal divine, till one of the other party said, “Since he is dead, let +him be buried.” +</p> + +<p> +The good man sobbed aloud, and so much did Colonel Everard sympathize with his +emotions, that he forebore to press him upon the subject of his own curiosity +until the full tide of remorseful passion had for the time abated. It was, +however, fierce and agitating, the more so, perhaps, that indulgence in strong +mental feeling of any kind was foreign to the severe and ascetic character of +the man, and was therefore the more overpowering when it had at once surmounted +all restraints. Large tears flowed down the trembling features of his thin, and +usually stern, or at least austere countenance; he eagerly returned the +compression of Everard’s hand, as if thankful for the sympathy which the +caress implied. +</p> + +<p> +Presently after, Master Holdenough wiped his eyes, withdrew his hand gently +from that of Everard, shaking it kindly as they parted, and proceeded with more +composure: “Forgive me this burst of passionate feeling, worthy Colonel. +I am conscious it little becomes a man of my cloth, who should be the bearer of +consolation to others, to give way in mine own person to an extremity of grief, +weak at least, if indeed it is not sinful; for what are we, that we should weep +and murmur touching that which is permitted? But Albany was to me as a brother. +The happiest days of my life, ere my call to mingle myself in the strife of the +land had awakened me to my duties, were spent in his company. I—but I +will make the rest of my story short.”—Here he drew his chair close +to that of Everard, and spoke in a solemn and mysterious tone of voice, almost +lowered to a whisper—“I saw him last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Saw <i>him</i>—saw whom?” said Everard. “Can you mean +the person whom”— +</p> + +<p> +“Whom I saw so ruthlessly slaughtered,” said the +clergyman—“My ancient college friend—Joseph Albany.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Holdenough, your cloth and your character alike must prevent your +jesting on such a subject as this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jesting!” answered Holdenough; “I would as soon jest on my +death-bed—as soon jest upon the Bible.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you must have been deceived,” answered Everard, hastily; +“this tragical story necessarily often returns to your mind, and in +moments when the imagination overcomes the evidence of the outward senses, your +fancy must have presented to you an unreal appearance. Nothing more likely, +when the mind is on the stretch after something supernatural, than that the +imagination should supply the place with a chimera, while the over-excited +feelings render it difficult to dispel the delusion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Everard,” replied Holdenough, with austerity, “in +discharge of my duty I must not fear the face of man; and, therefore, I tell +you plainly, as I have done before with more observance, that when you bring +your carnal learning and judgment, as it is but too much your nature to do, to +investigate the hidden things of another world, you might as well measure with +the palm of your hand the waters of the Isis. Indeed, good sir, you err in +this, and give men too much pretence to confound your honourable name with +witch-advocates, free-thinkers, and atheists, even with such as this man +Bletson, who, if the discipline of the church had its hand strengthened, as it +was in the beginning of the great conflict, would have been long ere now cast +out of the pale, and delivered over to the punishment of the flesh, that his +spirit might, if possible, be yet saved.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mistake, Master Holdenough,” said Colonel Everard; “I do +not deny the existence of such preternatural visitations, because I cannot, and +dare not, raise the voice of my own opinion against the testimony of ages, +supported by such learned men as yourself. Nevertheless, though I grant the +possibility of such things, I have scarce yet heard of an instance in my days +so well fortified by evidence, that I could at once and distinctly say, This +must have happened by supernatural agency, and not otherwise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear, then, what I have to tell,” said the divine, “on the +faith of a man, a Christian, and, what is more, a servant of our Holy Church; +and, therefore, though unworthy, an elder and a teacher among Christians. I had +taken my post yester evening in the half-furnished apartment, wherein hangs a +huge mirror, which might have served Goliath of Gath to have admired himself +in, when clothed from head to foot in his brazen armour. I the rather chose +this place, because they informed me it was the nearest habitable room to the +gallery in which they say you had been yourself assailed that evening by the +Evil One.—Was it so, I pray you?” +</p> + +<p> +“By some one with no good intentions I was assailed in that apartment. So +far,” said Colonel Everard, “you were correctly informed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I chose my post as well as I might, even as a resolved general +approaches his camp, and casts up his mound as nearly as he can to the besieged +city. And, of a truth, Colonel Everard, if I felt some sensation of bodily +fear,—for even Elias, and the prophets, who commanded the elements, had a +portion in our frail nature, much more such a poor sinful being as +myself,—yet was my hope and my courage high; and I thought of the texts +which I might use, not in the wicked sense of periapts, or spells, as the +blinded papists employ them, together with the sign of the cross and other +fruitless forms, but as nourishing and supporting that true trust and +confidence in the blessed promises, being the true shield of faith wherewith +the fiery darts of Satan may be withstood and quenched. And thus armed and +prepared, I sate me down to read, at the same time to write, that I might +compel my mind to attend to those subjects which became the situation in which +I was placed, as preventing any unlicensed excursions of the fancy, and leaving +no room for my imagination to brood over idle fears. So I methodised, and wrote +down what I thought meet for the time, and peradventure some hungry souls may +yet profit by the food which I then prepared.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was wisely and worthily done, good and reverend sir,” replied +Colonel Everard. “I pray you to proceed.” +</p> + +<p> +“While I was thus employed, sir, and had been upon the matter for about +three hours, not yielding to weariness, a strange thrilling came over my +senses, and the large and old-fashioned apartment seemed to wax larger, more +gloomy, and more cavernous, while the air of the night grew more cold and +chill. I know not if it was that the fire began to decay, or whether there +cometh before such things as were then about to happen, a breath and +atmosphere, as it were, of terror, as Job saith in a well-known passage, +‘Fear came upon me, and trembling, which made my bones to shake;’ +and there was a tingling noise in my ears, and a dizziness in my brain, so that +I felt like those who call for aid when there is no danger, and was even +prompted to flee, when I saw no one to pursue. It was then that something +seemed to pass behind me, casting a reflection on the great mirror before which +I had placed my writing-table, and which I saw by assistance of the large +standing light which was then in front of the glass. And I looked up, and I saw +in the glass distinctly the appearance of a man—as sure as these words +issue from my mouth, it was no other than the same Joseph Albany—the +companion of my youth—he whom I had seen precipitated down the +battlements of Clidesbrough Castle into the deep lake below!” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“It suddenly rushed on my mind,” said the divine, “that the +stoical philosopher Athenodorus had eluded the horrors of such a vision by +patiently pursuing his studies; and it shot at the same time across my mind, +that I, a Christian divine, and a Steward of the Mysteries, had less reason to +fear evil, and better matter on which to employ my thoughts, than was possessed +by a Heathen, who was blinded even by his own wisdom. So, instead of betraying +any alarm, or even turning my head around, I pursued my writing, but with a +beating heart, I admit, and with a throbbing hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you could write at all,” said the Colonel, “with such an +impression on your mind, you may take the head of the English army for +dauntless resolution.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our courage is not our own, Colonel,” said the divine, “and +not as ours should it be vaunted of. And again, when you speak of this strange +vision as an impression on my fancy, and not a reality obvious to my senses, +let me tell you once more, your worldly wisdom is but foolishness touching the +things that are not worldly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you not look again upon the mirror?” said the Colonel. +</p> + +<p> +“I did, when I had copied out the comfortable text, ‘Thou shalt +tread down Satan under thy feet.’” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did you then see?” +</p> + +<p> +“The reflection of the same Joseph Albany,” said Holdenough, +“passing slowly as from behind my chair—the same in member and +lineament that I had known him in his youth, excepting that his cheek had the +marks of the more advanced age at which he died, and was very pale.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I turned from the glass, and plainly saw the figure which had made the +reflection in the mirror retreating towards the door, not fast, nor slow, but +with a gliding steady pace. It turned again when near the door, and again +showed me its pale, ghastly countenance, before it disappeared. But how it left +the room, whether by the door, or otherwise, my spirits were too much hurried +to remark exactly; nor have I been able, by any effort of recollection, +distinctly to remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a strange, and, as coming from you, a most excellently +well-attested apparition,” answered Everard. “And yet, Master +Holdenough, if the other world has been actually displayed, as you apprehend, +and I will not dispute the possibility, assure yourself there are also wicked +men concerned in these machinations. I myself have undergone some rencontres +with visitants who possessed bodily strength, and wore, I am sure, earthly +weapons.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! doubtless, doubtless,” replied Master Holdenough; +“Beelzebub loves to charge with horse and foot mingled, as was the +fashion of the old Scottish general, Davie Leslie. He has his devils in the +body as well as his devils disembodied, and uses the one to support and back +the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be as you say, reverend sir,” answered the +Colonel.—“But what do you advise in this case?” +</p> + +<p> +“For that I must consult with my brethren,” said the divine; +“and if there be but left in our borders five ministers of the true kirk, +we will charge Satan in full body, and you shall see whether we have not power +over him to resist till he shall flee from us. But failing that ghostly +armament against these strange and unearthly enemies, truly I would recommend, +that as a house of witchcraft and abomination, this polluted den of ancient +tyranny and prostitution should be totally consumed by fire, lest Satan, +establishing his head-quarters so much to his mind, should find a garrison and +a fastness from which he might sally forth to infest the whole neighbourhood. +Certain it is, that I would recommend to no Christian soul to inhabit the +mansion; and, if deserted, it would become a place for wizards to play their +pranks, and witches to establish their Sabbath, and those who, like Demas, go +about after the wealth of this world, seeking for gold and silver to practise +spells and charms to the prejudice of the souls of the covetous. Trust me, +therefore, it were better that it were spoiled and broken down, not leaving one +stone upon another.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say nay to that, my good friend,” said the Colonel; “for +the Lord-General hath permitted, by his license, my mother’s brother, Sir +Henry Lee, and his family, to return into the house of his fathers, being +indeed the only roof under which he hath any chance of obtaining shelter for +his grey hairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“And was this done by your advice, Markham Everard?” said the +divine austerely. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly it was,” returned the Colonel.—“And +wherefore should I not exert mine influence to obtain a place of refuge for the +brother of my mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, as sure as thy soul liveth,” answered the presbyter, “I +had believed this from no tongue but thine own. Tell me, was it not this very +Sir Henry Lee, who, by the force of his buffcoats and his greenjerkins, +enforced the Papist Laie’s order to remove the altar to the eastern end +of the church at Woodstock?—and did not he swear by his beard, that he +would hang in the very street of Woodstock whoever should deny to drink the +King’s health?—and is not his hand red with the blood of the +saints?—and hath there been a ruffler in the field for prelacy and high +prerogative more unmitigable or fiercer?” +</p> + +<p> +“All this may have been as you say, good Master Holdenough,” +answered the Colonel; “but my uncle is now old and feeble, and hath +scarce a single follower remaining, and his daughter is a being whom to look +upon would make the sternest weep for pity; a being who”— +</p> + +<p> +“Who is dearer to Everard,” said Holdenough, “than his good +name, his faith to his friends, his duty to his religion;—this is no time +to speak with sugared lips. The paths in which you tread are dangerous. You are +striving to raise the papistical candlestick which Heaven in its justice +removed out of its place—to bring back to this hall of sorceries those +very sinners who are bewitched with them. I will not permit the land to be +abused by their witchcrafts.—They shall not come hither.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke this with vehemence, and striking his stick against the ground; and +the Colonel, very much dissatisfied, began to express himself haughtily in +return. “You had better consider your power to accomplish your threats, +Master Holdenough,” he said, “before you urge them so +peremptorily.” +</p> + +<p> +“And have I not the power to bind and to loose?” said the +clergyman. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a power little available, save over those of your own +Church,” said Everard, with a tone something contemptuous. +</p> + +<p> +“Take heed—take heed,” said the divine, who, though an +excellent, was, as we have elsewhere seen, an irritable man.—“Do +not insult me; but think honourably of the messenger, for the sake of Him whose +commission he carries.—Do not, I say, defy me—I am bound to +discharge my duty, were it to the displeasing of my twin brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can see nought your office has to do in the matter,” said +Colonel Everard; “and I, on my side, give you warning not to attempt to +meddle beyond your commission.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right—you hold me already to be as submissive as one of your +grenadiers,” replied the clergyman, his acute features trembling with a +sense of indignity, so as even to agitate his grey hair; “but beware, +sir, I am not so powerless as you suppose. I will invoke every true Christian +in Woodstock to gird up his loins, and resist the restoration of prelacy, +oppression, and malignancy within our borders. I will stir up the wrath of the +righteous against the oppressor—the Ishmaelite—the +Edomite—and against his race, and against those who support him and +encourage him to rear up his horn. I will call aloud, and spare not, and arouse +the many whose love hath waxed cold, and the multitude who care for none of +these things. There shall be a remnant to listen to me; and I will take the +stick of Joseph, which was in the hand of Ephraim, and go down to cleanse this +place of witches and sorcerers, and of enchantments, and will cry and exhort, +saying—Will you plead for Baal?—will you serve him? Nay, take the +prophets of Baal—let not a man escape!” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Holdenough, Master Holdenough,” said Colonel Everard, with +much impatience, “by the tale yourself told me, you have exhorted upon +that text once too often already.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man struck his palm forcibly against his forehead, and fell back into a +chair as these words were uttered, as suddenly, and as much without power of +resistance, as if the Colonel had fired a pistol through his head. Instantly +regretting the reproach which he had suffered to escape him in his impatience, +Everard hastened to apologise, and to offer every conciliatory excuse, however +inconsistent, which occurred to him on the moment. But the old man was too +deeply affected—he rejected his hand, lent no ear to what he said, and +finally started up, saying sternly, “You have abused my confidence, +sir—abused it vilely, to turn it into my own reproach: had I been a man +of the sword, you dared not—But enjoy your triumph, sir, over an old man, +and your father’s friend—strike at the wound his imprudent +confidence showed you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my worthy and excellent friend,” said the Colonel— +</p> + +<p> +“Friend!” answered the old man, starting up—“We are +foes, sir—foes now, and for ever!” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, and starting from the seat into which he had rather fallen than +thrown himself, he ran out of the room with a precipitation of step which he +was apt to use upon occasions of irritable feeling, and which was certainly +more eager than dignified, especially as he muttered while he ran, and seemed +as if he were keeping up his own passion, by recounting over and over the +offence which he had received. +</p> + +<p> +“So!” said Colonel Everard, “and there was not strife enough +between mine uncle and the people of Woodstock already, but I must needs +increase it, by chafing this irritable and quick-tempered old man, eager as I +knew him to be in his ideas of church-government, and stiff in his prejudices +respecting all who dissent from him! The mob of Woodstock will rise; for though +he would not get a score of them to stand by him in any honest or intelligible +purpose, yet let him cry havoc and destruction, and I will warrant he has +followers enow. And my uncle is equally wild and unpersuadable. For the value +of all the estate he ever had, he would not allow a score of troopers to be +quartered in the house for defence; and if he be alone, or has but Joceline to +stand by him, he will be as sure to fire upon those who come to attack the +Lodge, as if he had a hundred men in garrison; and then what can chance but +danger and bloodshed?” +</p> + +<p> +This progress of melancholy anticipation was interrupted by the return of +Master Holdenough, who, hurrying into the room, with the same precipitate pace +at which he had left it, ran straight up to the Colonel, and said, “Take +my hand, Markham—take my hand hastily; for the old Adam is whispering at +my heart, that it is a disgrace to hold it extended so long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most heartily do I receive your hand, my venerable friend,” said +Everard, “and I trust in sign of renewed amity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, surely,”—said the divine, shaking his hand kindly; +“thou hast, it is true, spoken bitterly, but thou hast spoken truth in +good time; and I think—though your words were severe—with a good +and kindly purpose. Verily, and of a truth, it were sinful in me again to be +hasty in provoking violence, remembering that which you have upbraided me +with”— +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me, good Master Holdenough,” said Colonel Everard, +“it was a hasty word; I meant not in serious earnest to +<i>upbraid</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, I pray you, peace,” said the divine; “I say, the +allusion to that which you have <i>most justly</i> upbraided me +with—though the charge aroused the gall of the old man within me, the +inward tempter being ever on the watch to bring us to his lure—ought, +instead of being resented, to have been acknowledged by me as a favour, for so +are the wounds of a friend termed faithful. And surely I, who have by one +unhappy exhortation to battle and strife sent the living to the dead—and +I fear brought back even the dead among the living—should now study peace +and good will, and reconciliation of difference, leaving punishment to the +Great Being whose laws are broken, and vengeance to Him who hath said, I will +repay it.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man’s mortified features lighted up with a humble confidence as +he made this acknowledgment; and Colonel Everard, who knew the constitutional +infirmities, and the early prejudices of professional consequence and exclusive +party opinion, which he must have subdued ere arriving at such a tone of +candour, hastened to express his admiration of his Christian charity, mingled +with reproaches on himself for having so deeply injured his feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“Think not of it—think not of it, excellent young man,” said +Holdenough; “we have both erred—I in suffering my zeal to outrun my +charity, you perhaps in pressing hard on an old and peevish man, who had so +lately poured out his sufferings into your friendly bosom. Be it all forgotten. +Let your friends, if they are not deterred by what has happened at this manor +of Woodstock, resume their habitation as soon as they will. If they can protect +themselves against the powers of the air, believe me, that if I can prevent it +by aught in my power, they shall have no annoyance from earthly neighbours; and +assure yourself, good sir, that my voice is still worth something with the +worthy Mayor, and the good Aldermen, and the better sort of housekeepers up +yonder in the town, although the lower classes are blown about with every wind +of doctrine. And yet farther, be assured, Colonel, that should your +mother’s brother, or any of his family, learn that they have taken up a +rash bargain in returning to this unhappy and unhallowed house, or should they +find any qualms in their own hearts and consciences which require a ghostly +comforter, Nehemiah Holdenough will be as much at their command by night or +day, as if they had been bred up within the holy pale of the Church in which he +is an unworthy minister; and neither the awe of what is fearful to be seen +within these walls, nor his knowledge of their blinded and carnal state, as +bred up under a prelatic dispensation, shall prevent him doing what lies in his +poor abilities for their protection and edification.” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel all the force of your kindness, reverend sir,” said Colonel +Everard, “but I do not think it likely that my uncle will give you +trouble on either score. He is a man much accustomed to be his own protector in +temporal danger, and in spiritual doubts to trust to his own prayers and those +of his Church.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust I have not been superfluous in offering mine assistance,” +said the old man, something jealous that his proffered spiritual aid had been +held rather intrusive. “I ask pardon if that is the case, I humbly ask +pardon—I would not willingly be superfluous.” +</p> + +<p> +The Colonel hastened to appease this new alarm of the watchful jealousy of his +consequence, which, joined with a natural heat of temper which he could not +always subdue, were the good man’s only faults. +</p> + +<p> +They had regained their former friendly footing, when Roger Wildrake returned +from the hut of Joceline, and whispered his master that his embassy had been +successful. The Colonel then addressed the divine, and informed him, that as +the Commissioners had already given up Woodstock, and as his uncle, Sir Henry +Lee, proposed to return to the Lodge about noon, he would, if his reverence +pleased, attend him up to the borough. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you not tarry,” said the reverend man, with something like +inquisitive apprehension in his voice, “to welcome your relatives upon +their return to this their house?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my good friend,” said Colonel Everard; “the part which I +have taken in these unhappy broils, perhaps also the mode of worship in which I +have been educated, have so prejudiced me in mine uncle’s opinion, that I +must be for some time a stranger to his house and family.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed! I rejoice to hear it with all my heart and soul,” said the +divine. “Excuse my frankness—I do indeed rejoice; I had +thought—no matter what I had thought; I would not again give offence. But +truly though the maiden hath a pleasant feature, and he, as all men say, is in +human things unexceptionable, yet—but I give you pain—in sooth, I +will say no more unless you ask my sincere and unprejudiced advice, which you +shall command, but which I will not press on you superfluously. Wend we to the +borough together—the pleasant solitude of the forest may dispose us to +open our hearts to each other.” +</p> + +<p> +They did walk up to the little town in company, and somewhat to Master +Holdenough’s surprise, the Colonel, though they talked on various +subjects, did not request of him any ghostly advice on the subject of his love +to his fair cousin, while, greatly beyond the expectation of the soldier, the +clergyman kept his word, and in his own phrase, was not so superfluous as to +offer upon so delicate a point his unasked counsel. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Then are the harpies gone—Yet ere we perch<br/> +Where such foul birds have roosted, let us cleanse<br/> +The foul obscenity they’ve left behind them. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +A<small>GAMEMNON</small>. +</p> + +<p> +The embassy of Wildrake had been successful, chiefly through the mediation of +the Episcopal divine, whom we formerly found acting in the character of a +chaplain to the family, and whose voice had great influence on many accounts +with its master. +</p> + +<p> +A little before high noon, Sir Henry Lee, with his small household, were again +in unchallenged possession of their old apartments at the Lodge of Woodstock; +and the combined exertions of Joceline Joliffe, of Phœbe, and of old Joan, +were employed in putting to rights what the late intruders had left in great +disorder. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry Lee had, like all persons of quality of that period, a love of order +amounting to precision, and felt, like a fine lady whose dress has been +disordered in a crowd, insulted and humiliated by the rude confusion into which +his household goods had been thrown, and impatient till his mansion was +purified from all marks of intrusion. In his anger he uttered more orders than +the limited number of his domestics were likely to find time or hands to +execute. “The villains have left such sulphureous steams behind them, +too,” said the old knight, “as if old Davie Leslie and the whole +Scottish army had quartered among them.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be near as bad,” said Joceline, “for men say, for +certain, it was the Devil came down bodily among them, and made them troop +off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said the knight, “is the Prince of Darkness a +gentleman, as old Will Shakspeare says. He never interferes with those of his +own coat, for the Lees have been here, father and son, these five hundred +years, without disquiet; and no sooner came these misbegotten churls, than he +plays his own part among them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, one thing he and they have left us,” said Joliffe, +“which we may thank them for; and that is, such a well-filled larder and +buttery as has been seldom seen in Woodstock Lodge this many a day: carcasses +of mutton, large rounds of beef, barrels of confectioners’ ware, pipes +and runlets of sack, muscadine, ale, and what not. We shall have a royal time +on’t through half the winter; and Joan must get to salting and pickling +presently.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out, villain!” said the knight; “are we to feed on the +fragments of such scum of the earth as these? Cast them forth instantly! +Nay,” checking himself, “that were a sin; but give them to the +poor, or see them sent to the owners. And, hark ye, I will none of their strong +liquors. I would rather drink like a hermit all my life, than seem to pledge +such scoundrels as these in their leavings, like a miserable drawer, who drains +off the ends of the bottles after the guests have paid their reckoning, and +gone off. And, hark ye, I will taste no water from the cistern out of which +these slaves have been serving themselves—fetch me down a pitcher from +Rosamond’s spring.” +</p> + +<p> +Alice heard this injunction, and well guessing there was enough for the other +members of the family to do, she quietly took a small pitcher, and flinging a +cloak around her, walked out in person to procure Sir Henry the water which he +desired. Meantime, Joceline said, with some hesitation, “that a man still +remained, belonging to the party of these strangers, who was directing about +the removal of some trunks and mails which belonged to the Commissioners, and +who could receive his honour’s commands about the provisions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let him come hither.” (The dialogue was held in the hall.) +“Why do you hesitate and drumble in that manner?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only, sir,” said Joceline, “only perhaps your honour might +not wish to see him, being the same who, not long since”— +</p> + +<p> +He paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Sent my rapier a-hawking through the firmament, thou wouldst say? Why, +when did I take spleen at a man for standing his ground against me? Roundhead +as he is, man, I like him the better of that, not the worse. I hunger and +thirst to have another turn with him. I have thought on his passado ever since, +and I believe, were it to try again, I know a feat would control it. Fetch him +directly.” +</p> + +<p> +Trusty Tomkins was presently ushered in, bearing himself with an iron gravity, +which neither the terrors of the preceding night, nor the dignified demeanour +of the high-born personage before whom he stood, were able for an instant to +overcome. +</p> + +<p> +“How now, good fellow?” said Sir Henry; “I would fain see +something more of thy fence, which baffled me the other evening; but truly, I +think the light was somewhat too faint for my old eyes. Take a foil, +man—I walk here in the hall, as Hamlet says; and ’tis the +breathing-time of day with me. Take a foil, then, in thy hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since it is your worship’s desire,” said the steward, +letting fall his long cloak, and taking the foil in his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said the knight, “if your fitness speaks, mine is +ready. Methinks the very stepping on this same old pavement hath charmed away +the gout which threatened me. Sa—sa—I tread as firm as a +game-cock.” +</p> + +<p> +They began the play with great spirit; and whether the old knight really fought +more coolly with the blunt than with the sharp weapon, or whether the steward +gave him some grains of advantage in this merely sportive encounter, it is +certain Sir Henry had the better in the assault. His success put him into +excellent humour. +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said he, “I found your trick—nay, you cheat me +not twice the same way. There was a very palpable hit. Why, had I had but light +enough the other night—But it skills not speaking of it—Here we +leave off. I must not fight, as we unwise cavaliers did with you roundhead +rascals, beating you so often that we taught you to beat us at last. And good +now, tell me why you are leaving your larder so full here? Do you think I or my +family can use broken victuals? What, have you no better employment for your +rounds of sequestrated beef than to leave them behind you when you shift your +quarters?” +</p> + +<p> +“So please your honour,” said Tomkins, “it may be that you +desire not the flesh of beeves, of rams, or of goats. Nevertheless, when you +know that the provisions were provided and paid for out of your own rents and +stock at Ditchley, sequestrated to the use of the state more than a year since, +it may be you will have less scruple to use them for your own behoof.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rest assured that I shall,” said Sir Henry; “and glad you +have helped me to a share of mine own. Certainly I was an ass to suspect your +masters of subsisting, save at honest men’s expense.” +</p> + +<p> +“And as for the rumps of beeves,” continued Tomkins, with the same +solemnity, “there is a rump at Westminster, which will stand us of the +army much hacking and hewing yet, ere it is discussed to our mind.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry paused, as if to consider what was the meaning of this innuendo; for +he was not a person of very quick apprehension. But having at length caught the +meaning of it, he burst into an explosion of louder laughter than Joceline had +seen him indulge in for a long while. +</p> + +<p> +“Right, knave,” he said, “I taste thy jest—It is the +very moral of the puppet-show. Faustus raised the devil, as the Parliament +raised the army, and then, as the devil flies away with Faustus, so will the +army fly away with the Parliament, or the rump, as thou call’st it, or +sitting part of the so-called Parliament. And then, look you, friend, the very +devil of all hath my willing consent to fly away with the army in its turn, +from the highest general down to the lowest drum-boy. Nay, never look fierce +for the matter; remember there is daylight enough now for a game at +sharps.” +</p> + +<p> +Trusty Tomkins appeared to think it best to suppress his displeasure; and +observing that the wains were ready to transport the Commissioners’ +property to the borough, took a grave leave of Sir Henry Lee. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the old man continued to pace his recovered hall, rubbing his hands, +and evincing greater signs of glee than he had shown since the fatal 30th of +January. +</p> + +<p> +“Here we are again in the old frank, Joliffe; well victualled too. How +the knave solved my point of conscience!—the dullest of them is a special +casuist where the question concerns profit. Look out if there are not some of +our own ragged regiment lurking about, to whom a bellyful would be a God-send, +Joceline. Then his fence, Joceline, though the fellow foins well, very +sufficient well. But thou saw’st how I dealt with him when I had fitting +light, Joceline.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, and so your honour did,” said Joceline. “You taught him +to know the Duke of Norfolk, from Saunders Gardner. I’ll warrant him he +will not wish to come under your honour’s thumb again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I am waxing old,” said Sir Henry; “but skill will not +rust through age, though sinews must stiffen. But my age is like a lusty +winter, as old Will says, frosty but kindly; and what if, old as we are, we +live to see better days yet! I promise thee, Joceline, I love this jarring +betwixt the rogues of the board and the rogues of the sword. When thieves +quarrel, true men have a chance of coming by their own.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus triumphed the old cavalier, in the treble glory of having recovered his +dwelling,—regained, as he thought, his character as a man of fence, and +finally, discovered some prospect of a change of times, in which he was not +without hopes that something might turn up for the royal interest. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, Alice, with a prouder and a lighter heart than had danced in her +bosom for several days, went forth with a gaiety to which she of late had been +a stranger, to contribute her assistance to the regulation and supply of the +household, by bringing the fresh water wanted from fair Rosamond’s well. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps she remembered, that when she was but a girl, her cousin Markham used, +among others, to make her perform that duty, as presenting the character of +some captive Trojan princess, condemned by her situation to draw the waters +from some Grecian spring, for the use of the proud victor. At any rate, she +certainly joyed to see her father reinstated in his ancient habitation; and the +joy was not the less sincere, that she knew their return to Woodstock had been +procured by means of her cousin, and that even in her father’s prejudiced +eyes, Everard had been in some degree exculpated of the accusations the old +knight had brought against him; and that, if a reconciliation had not yet taken +place, the preliminaries had been established on which such a desirable +conclusion might easily be founded. It was like the commencement of a bridge; +when the foundation is securely laid, and the piers raised above the influence +of the torrent, the throwing of the arches may be accomplished in a subsequent +season. +</p> + +<p> +The doubtful fate of her only brother might have clouded even this momentary +gleam of sunshine; but Alice had been bred up during the close and frequent +contest of civil war, and had acquired the habit of hoping in behalf of those +dear to her, until hope was lost. In the present case, all reports seemed to +assure her of her brother’s safety. +</p> + +<p> +Besides these causes for gaiety, Alice Lee had the pleasing feeling that she +was restored to the habitation and the haunts of her childhood, from which she +had not departed without much pain, the more felt, perhaps, because suppressed, +in order to avoid irritating her father’s sense of his misfortune. +Finally, she enjoyed for the instant the gleam of self-satisfaction by which we +see the young and well-disposed so often animated, when they can be, in common +phrase, helpful to those whom they love, and perform at the moment of need some +of those little domestic tasks, which age receives with so much pleasure from +the dutiful hands of youth. So that, altogether, as she hasted through the +remains and vestiges of a wilderness already mentioned, and from thence about a +bow-shot into the Park, to bring a pitcher of water from Rosamond’s +spring, Alice Lee, her features enlivened and her complexion a little raised by +the exercise, had, for the moment, regained the gay and brilliant vivacity of +expression which had been the characteristic of her beauty in her earlier and +happier days. +</p> + +<p> +This fountain of old memory had been once adorned with architectural ornaments +in the style of the sixteenth century, chiefly relating to ancient mythology. +All these were now wasted and overthrown, and existed only as moss-covered +ruins, while the living spring continued to furnish its daily treasures, +unrivalled in purity, though the quantity was small, gushing out amid +disjointed stones, and bubbling through fragments of ancient sculpture. +</p> + +<p> +With a light step and laughing brow the young Lady of Lee was approaching, the +fountain usually so solitary, when she paused on beholding some one seated +beside it. She proceeded, however, with confidence, though with a step +something less gay, when she observed that the person was a female; some menial +perhaps from the town, whom a fanciful mistress occasionally dispatched for the +water of a spring, supposed to be peculiarly pure, or some aged woman, who made +a little trade by carrying it to the better sort of families, and selling it +for a trifle. There was no cause, therefore, for apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +Yet the terrors of the times were so great, that Alice did not see a stranger +even of her own sex without some apprehension. Denaturalized women had as usual +followed the camps of both armies during the Civil War; who, on the one side +with open profligacy and profanity, on the other with the fraudful tone of +fanaticism or hypocrisy, exercised nearly in like degree their talents, for +murder or plunder. But it was broad daylight, the distance from the Lodge was +but trifling, and though a little alarmed at seeing a stranger where she +expected deep solitude, the daughter of the haughty old Knight had too much of +the lion about her, to fear without some determined and decided cause. +</p> + +<p> +Alice walked, therefore, gravely on toward the fount, and composed her looks as +she took a hasty glance of the female who was seated there, and addressed +herself to her task of filling her pitcher. +</p> + +<p> +The woman, whose presence had surprised and somewhat startled Alice Lee, was a +person of the lower rank, whose red cloak, russet kirtle, handkerchief trimmed +with Coventry blue, and a coarse steeple hat, could not indicate at best any +thing higher than the wife of a small farmer, or, perhaps, the helpmate of a +bailiff or hind. It was well if she proved nothing worse. Her clothes, indeed, +were of good materials; but, what the female eye discerns with half a glance, +they were indifferently adjusted and put on. This looked as if they did not +belong to the person by whom they were worn, but were articles of which she had +become the mistress by some accident, if not by some successful robbery. Her +size, too, as did not escape Alice, even in the short perusal she afforded the +stranger, was unusual; her features swarthy and singularly harsh, and her +manner altogether unpropitious. The young lady almost wished, as she stooped to +fill her pitcher, that she had rather turned back, and sent Joceline on the +errand; but repentance was too late now, and she had only to disguise as well +as she could her unpleasant feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“The blessings of this bright day to one as bright as it is,” said +the stranger, with no unfriendly, though a harsh voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you,” said Alice in reply; and continued to fill her +pitcher busily, by assistance of an iron bowl which remained still chained to +one of the stones beside the fountain. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, my pretty maiden, if you would accept my help, your work would +be sooner done,” said the stranger. +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you,” said Alice; “but had I needed assistance, I +could have brought those with me who had rendered it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not doubt of that, my pretty maiden,” answered the female; +“there are too many lads in Woodstock with eyes in their heads—No +doubt you could have brought with you any one of them who looked on you, if you +had listed.” +</p> + +<p> +Alice replied not a syllable, for she did not like the freedom used by the +speaker, and was desirous to break off the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you offended, my pretty mistress?” said the stranger; +“that was far from my purpose.—I will put my question +otherwise.—Are the good dames of Woodstock so careless of their pretty +daughters as to let the flower of them all wander about the wild chase without +a mother, or a somebody to prevent the fox from running away with the +lamb?—that carelessness, methinks, shows small kindness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Content yourself, good woman, I am not far from protection and +assistance,” said Alice, who liked less and less the effrontery of her +new acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas! my pretty maiden,” said the stranger, patting with her large +and hard hand the head which Alice had kept bended down towards the water which +she was laving, “it would be difficult to hear such a pipe as yours at +the town of Woodstock, scream as loud as you would.” +</p> + +<p> +Alice shook the woman’s hand angrily off, took up her pitcher, though not +above half full, and as she saw the stranger rise at the same time, said, not +without fear doubtless, but with a natural feeling of resentment and dignity, +“I have no reason to make my cries heard as far as Woodstock; were there +occasion for my crying for help at all, it is nearer at hand.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke not without a warrant; for, at the moment, broke through the bushes, +and stood by her side, the noble hound Bevis; fixing on the stranger his eyes +that glanced fire, raising every hair on his gallant mane as upright as the +bristles of a wild boar when hard pressed, grinning till a case of teeth, which +would have matched those of any wolf in Russia, were displayed in full array, +and, without either barking or springing, seeming, by his low determined growl, +to await but the signal for dashing at the female, whom he plainly considered +as a suspicious person. +</p> + +<p> +But the stranger was undaunted. “My pretty maiden,” she said, +“you have indeed a formidable guardian there, where cockneys or bumpkins +are concerned; but we who have been at the wars know spells for taming such +furious dragons; and therefore let not your four-footed protector go loose on +me, for he is a noble animal, and nothing but self-defence would induce me to +do him injury.” So saying, she drew a pistol from her bosom, and cocked +it—pointing it towards the dog, as if apprehensive that he would spring +upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold, woman, hold!” said Alice Lee; “the dog will not do you +harm.—Down, Bevis, couch down.—And ere you attempt to hurt him, +know he is the favourite hound of Sir Henry Lee of Ditchley, the keeper of +Woodstock Park, who would severely revenge any injury offered to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you, pretty one, are the old knight’s house-keeper, doubtless? +I have often heard the Lees have good taste.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am his daughter, good woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“His daughter!—I was blind—but yet it is true, nothing less +perfect could answer the description which all the world has given of Mistress +Alice Lee. I trust that my folly has given my young mistress no offence, and +that she will allow me, in token of reconciliation, to fill her pitcher, and +carry it as far as she will permit.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you will, good mother; but I am about to return instantly to the +Lodge, to which, in these times, I cannot admit strangers. You can follow me no +farther than the verge of the wilderness, and I am already too long from home: +I will send some one to meet and relieve you of the pitcher.” So saying, +she turned her back, with a feeling of terror which she could hardly account +for, and began to walk quickly towards the Lodge, thinking thus to get rid of +her troublesome acquaintance. +</p> + +<p> +But she reckoned without her host; for in a moment her new companion was by her +side, not running, indeed, but walking with prodigious long unwomanly strides, +which soon brought her up with the hurried and timid steps of the frightened +maiden. But her manner was more respectful than formerly, though her voice +sounded remarkably harsh and disagreeable, and her whole appearance suggested +an undefined, yet irresistible feeling of apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon a stranger, lovely Mistress Alice,” said her persecutor, +“that was not capable of distinguishing between a lady of your high +quality and a peasant wench, and who spoke to you with a degree of freedom, +ill-befitting your rank, certainly, and condition, and which, I fear, has given +you offence.” +</p> + +<p> +“No offence whatever,” replied Alice; “but, good woman, I am +near home, and can excuse your farther company.—You are unknown to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it follows not,” said the stranger, “that <i>your</i> +fortunes may not be known to <i>me</i>, fair Mistress Alice. Look on my swarthy +brow—England breeds none such—and in the lands from which I come, +the sun which blackens our complexion, pours, to make amends, rays of knowledge +into our brains, which are denied to those of your lukewarm climate. Let me +look upon your pretty hand,—(attempting to possess herself of +it,)—and I promise you, you shall hear what will please you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hear what does <i>not</i> please me,” said Alice, with dignity; +“you must carry your tricks of fortune-telling and palmistry to the women +of the village.—We of the gentry hold them to be either imposture or +unlawful knowledge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you would fain hear of a certain Colonel, I warrant you, whom +certain unhappy circumstances have separated from his family; you would give +better than silver if I could assure you that you would see him in a day or +two—ay, perhaps, sooner.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know nothing of what you speak, good woman; if you want alms, there is +a piece of silver—it is all I have in my purse.” +</p> + +<p> +“It were pity that I should take it,” said the female; “and +yet give it me—for the princess in the fairy tale must ever deserve, by +her generosity, the bounty of the benevolent fairy, before she is rewarded by +her protection.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take it—take it—give me my pitcher,” said Alice, +“and begone,—yonder comes one of my father’s +servants.—What, ho!—Joceline—Joceline!” +</p> + +<p> +The old fortune-teller hastily dropped something into the pitcher as she +restored it to Alice Lee, and, plying her long limbs, disappeared speedily +under cover of the wood. +</p> + +<p> +Bevis turned, and barked, and showed some inclination to harass the retreat of +this suspicious person, yet, as if uncertain, ran towards Joliffe, and fawned +on him, as to demand his advice and encouragement. Joceline pacified the +animal, and, coming up to his young lady, asked her, with surprise, what was +the matter, and whether she had been frightened? Alice made light of her alarm, +for which, indeed, she could not have assigned any very competent reason, for +the manners of the woman, though bold and intrusive, were not menacing. She +only said she had met a fortune-teller by Rosamond’s Well, and had had +some difficulty in shaking her off. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, the gipsy thief,” said Joceline, “how well she scented +there was food in the pantry!—they have noses like ravens, these +strollers. Look you, Mistress Alice, you shall not see a raven or a +carrion-crow in all the blue sky for a mile round you; but let a sheep drop +suddenly down on the green-sward, and before the poor creature’s dead you +shall see a dozen of such guests croaking, as if inviting each other to the +banquet.—Just so it is with these sturdy beggars. You will see few enough +of them when there’s nothing to give, but when hough’s in the pot, +they will have share on’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are so proud of your fresh supply of provender,” said Alice, +“that you suspect all of a design on’t. I do not think this woman +will venture near your kitchen, Joceline.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will be best for her health,” said Joceline, “lest I give +her a ducking for digestion.—But give me the pitcher, Mistress +Alice—meeter I bear it than you.—How now? what jingles at the +bottom? have you lifted the pebbles as well as the water?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think the woman dropped something into the pitcher,” said Alice. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, we must look to that, for it is like to be a charm, and we have +enough of the devil’s ware about Woodstock already—we will not +spare for the water—I can run back and fill the pitcher.” He poured +out the water upon the grass, and at the bottom of the pitcher was found a gold +ring, in which was set a ruby, apparently of some value. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, if this be not enchantment, I know not what is,” said +Joceline. “Truly, Mistress Alice, I think you had better throw away this +gimcrack. Such gifts from such hands are a kind of press-money which the devil +uses for enlisting his regiment of witches; and if they take but so much as a +bean from him, they become his bond-slaves for life—Ay, you look at the +gew-gaw, but to-morrow you will find a lead ring, and a common pebble in its +stead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Joceline, I think it will be better to find out that +dark-complexioned woman, and return to her what seems of some value. So, cause +enquiry to be made, and be sure you return her ring. It seems too valuable to +be destroyed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Umph! that is always the way with women,” murmured Joceline. +“You will never get the best of them, but she is willing to save a bit of +finery.—Well, Mistress Alice, I trust that you are too young and too +pretty to be enlisted in a regiment of witches.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not be afraid of it till you turn conjuror,” said Alice; +“so hasten to the well, where you are like still to find the woman, and +let her know that Alice Lee desires none of her gifts, any more than she did of +her society.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, the young lady pursued her way to the Lodge, while Joceline went +down to Rosamond’s Well to execute her commission. But the +fortune-teller, or whoever she might be, was nowhere to be found; neither, +finding that to be the case, did Joceline give himself much trouble in tracking +her farther. +</p> + +<p> +“If this ring, which I dare say the jade stole somewhere,” said the +underkeeper to himself, “be worth a few nobles, it is better in honest +hands than in that of vagabonds. My master has a right to all waifs and strays, +and certainly such a ring, in possession of a gipsy, must be a waif. So I shall +confiscate it without scruple, and apply the produce to the support of Sir +Henry’s household, which is like to be poor enough. Thank Heaven, my +military experience has taught me how to carry hooks at my +finger-ends—that is trooper’s law. Yet, hang it, after all, I had +best take it to Mark Everard and ask his advice—I hold him now to be your +learned counsellor in law where Mistress Alice’s affairs are concerned, +and my learned Doctor, who shall be nameless, for such as concern Church and +State and Sir Henry Lee.—And I’ll give them leave to give mine +umbles to the kites and ravens if they find me conferring my confidence where +it is not safe.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Being skilless in these parts, which, to a stranger,<br/> +Unguided and unfriended, often prove<br/> +Rough and inhospitable. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +T<small>WELFTH</small> N<small>IGHT</small>. +</p> + +<p> +There was a little attempt at preparation, now that the dinner hour was +arrived, which showed that, in the opinion of his few but faithful domestics, +the good knight had returned in triumph to his home. +</p> + +<p> +The great tankard, exhibiting in bas-relief the figure of Michael subduing the +Arch-enemy, was placed on the table, and Joceline and Phœbe dutifully +attended; the one behind the chair of Sir Henry, the other to wait upon her +young mistress, and both to make out, by formal and regular observance, the +want of a more numerous train. +</p> + +<p> +“A health to King Charles!” said the old knight, handing the +massive tankard to his daughter; “drink it, my love, though it be rebel +ale which they have left us. I will pledge thee; for the toast will excuse the +liquor, had Noll himself brewed it.” +</p> + +<p> +The young lady touched the goblet with her lip, and returned it to her father, +who took a copious draught. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not say blessing on their hearts,” said he; “though I +must own they drank good ale.” +</p> + +<p> +“No wonder, sir; they come lightly by the malt, and need not spare +it,” said Joceline. +</p> + +<p> +“Say’st thou?” said the knight; “thou shalt finish the +tankard thyself for that very jest’s sake.” +</p> + +<p> +Nor was his follower slow in doing reason to the royal pledge. He bowed, and +replaced the tankard, saying, after a triumphant glance at the sculpture, +“I had a gibe with that same red-coat about the Saint Michael just +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Red-coat—ha! what red-coat?” said the hasty old man. +“Do any of these knaves still lurk about Woodstock?—Quoit him down +stairs instantly, Joceline.—Know we not Galloway nags?” +</p> + +<p> +“So please you, he is in some charge here, and will speedily be +gone.—It is he—he who had a rencontre with your honour in the +wood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, but I paid him off for it in the hall, as you yourself saw.—I +was never in better fence in my life, Joceline. That same steward fellow is not +so utterly black-hearted a rogue as the most of them, Joceline. He fences +well—excellent well. I will have thee try a bout in the hall with him +to-morrow, though I think he will be too hard for thee. I know thy strength to +an inch.” +</p> + +<p> +He might say this with some truth; for it was Joceline’s fashion, when +called on, as sometimes happened, to fence with his patron, just to put forth +as much of his strength and skill as obliged the Knight to contend hard for the +victory, which, in the long run, he always contrived to yield up to him, like a +discreet serving-man. +</p> + +<p> +“And what said this roundheaded steward of our great Saint +Michael’s standing cup?” +</p> + +<p> +“Marry, he scoffed at our good saint, and said he was little better than +one of the golden calves of Bethel. But I told him he should not talk so, until +one of their own roundheaded saints had given the devil as complete a +cross-buttock as Saint Michael had given him, as ’tis carved upon the cup +there. I trow that made him silent enough. And then he would know whether your +honour and Mistress Alice, not to mention old Joan and myself, since it is your +honour’s pleasure I should take my bed here, were not afraid to sleep in +a house that had been so much disturbed. But I told him we feared no fiends or +goblins, having the prayers of the Church read every evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Joceline,” said Alice, interrupting him, “wert thou mad? You +know at what risk to ourselves and the good doctor the performance of that duty +takes place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mistress Alice,” said Joceline, a little abashed, “you +may be sure I spoke not a word of the doctor—No, no—I did not let +him into the secret that we had such a reverend chaplain.—I think I know +the length of this man’s foot. We have had a jollification or so +together. He is hand and glove with me, for as great a fanatic as he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Trust him not too far,” said the knight. “Nay, I fear thou +hast been imprudent already, and that it will be unsafe for the good man to +come here after nightfall, as is proposed. These Independents have noses like +bloodhounds, and can smell out a loyalist under any disguise.” +</p> + +<p> +“If your honour thinks so,” said Joceline, “I’ll watch +for the doctor with good will, and bring him into the Lodge by the old +condemned postern, and so up to this apartment; and sure this man Tomkins would +never presume to come hither; and the doctor may have a bed in Woodstock Lodge, +and he never the wiser; or, if your honour does not think that safe, I can cut +his throat for you, and I would not mind it a pin.” +</p> + +<p> +“God forbid!” said the knight. “He is under our roof, and a +guest, though not an invited one.—Go, Joceline; it shall be thy penance, +for having given thy tongue too much license, to watch for the good doctor, and +to take care of his safety while he continues with us. An October night or two +in the forest would finish the good man.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s more like to finish our October than our October is to finish +him,” said the keeper; and withdrew under the encouraging smile of his +patron. +</p> + +<p> +He whistled Bevis along with him to share in his watch; and having received +exact information where the clergyman was most likely to be found, assured his +master that he would give the most pointed attention to his safety. When the +attendants had withdrawn, having previously removed the remains of the meal, +the old knight, leaning back in his chair, encouraged pleasanter visions than +had of late passed through his imagination, until by degrees he was surprised +by actual slumber; while his daughter, not venturing to move but on tiptoe, +took some needle-work, and bringing it close by the old man’s side, +employed her fingers on this task, bending her eyes from time to time on her +parent, with the affectionate zeal, if not the effective power, of a guardian +angel. At length, as the light faded away, and night came on, she was about to +order candles to be brought. But, remembering how indifferent a couch +Joceline’s cottage had afforded, she could not think of interrupting the +first sound and refreshing sleep which her father had enjoyed, in all +probability, for the last two nights and days. +</p> + +<p> +She herself had no other amusement, as she sat facing one of the great oriel +windows, the same by which Wildrake had on a former occasion looked in upon +Tomkins and Joceline while at their compotations, than watching the clouds, +which a lazy wind sometimes chased from the broad disk of the harvest-moon, +sometimes permitted to accumulate, and exclude her brightness. There is, I know +not why, something peculiarly pleasing to the imagination, in contemplating the +Queen of Night, when she is <i>wading</i>, as the expression is, among the +vapours which she has not power to dispel, and which on their side are unable +entirely to quench her lustre. It is the striking image of patient virtue, +calmly pursuing her path through good report and bad report, having that +excellence in herself which ought to command all admiration, but bedimmed in +the eyes of the world, by suffering, by misfortune, by calumny. +</p> + +<p> +As some such reflections, perhaps, were passing through Alice’s +imagination, she became sensible, to her surprise and alarm, that some one had +clambered up upon the window, and was looking into the room. The idea of +supernatural fear did not in the slightest degree agitate Alice. She was too +much accustomed to the place and situation; for folk do not see spectres in the +scenes with which they have been familiar from infancy. But danger from +maurauders in a disturbed country was a more formidable subject of +apprehension, and the thought armed Alice, who was naturally high spirited, +with such desperate courage, that she snatched a pistol from the wall, on which +some fire-arms hung, and while she screamed to her father to awake, had the +presence of mind to present it at the intruder. She did so the more readily, +because she imagined she recognised in the visage, which she partially saw, the +features of the woman whom she had met with at Rosamond’s Well, and which +had appeared to her peculiarly harsh and suspicious. Her father at the same +time seized his sword and came forward, while the person at the window, alarmed +at these demonstrations, and endeavouring to descend, missed footing, as had +Cavaliero Wildrake before, and went down to the earth with no small noise. Nor +was the reception on the bosom of our common mother either soft or safe; for, +by a most terrific bark and growl, they heard that Bevis had come up and seized +on the party, ere he or she could gain their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold fast, but worry not,” said the old +knight.—“Alice, thou art the queen of wenches! Stand fast here till +I run down and secure the rascal.” +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake, no, my dearest father!” Alice exclaimed; +“Joceline will be up immediately—Hark!—I hear him.” +</p> + +<p> +There was indeed a bustle below, and more than one light danced to and fro in +confusion, while those who bore them called to each other, yet suppressing +their voices as they spoke, as men who would only be heard by those they +addressed. The individual who had fallen under the power of Bevis was most +impatient in his situation, and called with least precaution—“Here, +Lee,—Forester—take the dog off, else I must shoot him.” +</p> + +<p> +“If thou dost,” said Sir Henry, from the window, “I blow thy +brains out on the spot. Thieves, Joceline, thieves! come up and secure this +ruffian.—Bevis, hold on!” +</p> + +<p> +“Back, Bevis; down, sir!” cried Joceline. “I am coming, I am +coming, Sir Henry—Saint Michael, I shall go distracted!” +</p> + +<p> +A terrible thought suddenly occurred to Alice; could Joceline have become +unfaithful, that he was calling Bevis off the villain, instead of encouraging +the trusty dog to secure him? Her father, meantime, moved perhaps by some +suspicion of the same kind, hastily stepped aside out of the moonlight, and +pulled Alice close to him, so as to be invisible from without, yet so placed as +to hear what should pass. The scuffle between Bevis and his prisoner seemed to +be ended by Joceline’s interference, and there was close whispering for +an instant, as of people in consultation. +</p> + +<p> +“All is quiet now,” said one voice; “I will up and prepare +the way for you.” And immediately a form presented itself on the outside +of the window, pushed open the lattice, and sprung into the parlour. But almost +ere his step was upon the floor, certainly before he had obtained any secure +footing, the old knight, who stood ready with his rapier drawn, made a +desperate pass, which bore the intruder to the ground. Joceline, who clambered +up next with a dark lantern in his hand, uttered a dreadful exclamation, when +he saw what had happened, crying out, “Lord in heaven, he has slain his +own son!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no—I tell you no,” said the fallen young man, who was +indeed young Albert Lee, the only son of the old knight; “I am not hurt. +No noise, on your lives; get lights instantly.” At the same time, he +started from the floor as quickly as he could, under the embarrassment of a +cloak and doublet skewered as it were together by the rapier of the old knight, +whose pass, most fortunately, had been diverted from the body of Albert by the +interruption of his cloak, the blade passing right across his back, piercing +the clothes, while the hilt coming against his side with the whole force of the +lunge, had borne him to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Joceline all the while enjoined silence to every one, under the strictest +conjurations. “Silence, as you would long live on earth—silence, as +ye would have a place in heaven; be but silent for a few minutes—all our +lives depend on it.” +</p> + +<p> +Meantime he procured lights with inexpressible dispatch, and they then beheld +that Sir Henry, on hearing the fatal words, had sunk back on one of the large +chairs, without either motion, colour, or sign of life. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, brother, how could you come in this manner?” said Alice. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask no questions—Good God! for what am I reserved!” He gazed +on his father as he spoke, who, with clay-cold features rigidly fixed, and his +arms extended in the most absolute helplessness, looked rather the image of +death upon a monument, than a being in whom existence was only suspended. +“Was my life spared,” said Albert, raising his hands with a wild +gesture to heaven, “only to witness such a sight as this!” +</p> + +<p> +“We suffer what Heaven permits, young man; we endure our lives while +Heaven continues them. Let me approach.” The same clergyman who had read +the prayers at Joceline’s hut now came forward. “Get water,” +he said, “instantly.” And the helpful hand and light foot of Alice, +with the ready-witted tenderness which never stagnates in vain lamentations +while there is any room for hope, provided with incredible celerity all that +the clergyman called for. +</p> + +<p> +“It is but a swoon,” he said, on feeling Sir Henry’s palm; +“a swoon produced from the instant and unexpected shock. Rouse thee up, +Albert; I promise thee it will be nothing save a syncope—A cup, my +dearest Alice, and a ribbon or a bandage. I must take some blood—some +aromatics, too, if they can be had, my good Alice.” +</p> + +<p> +But while Alice procured the cup and bandage, stripped her father’s +sleeve, and seemed by intuition even to anticipate every direction of the +reverend doctor, her brother, hearing no word, and seeing no sign of comfort, +stood with both hands clasped and elevated into the air, a monument of +speechless despair. Every feature in his face seemed to express the thought, +“Here lies my father’s corpse, and it is I whose rashness has slain +him!” +</p> + +<p> +But when a few drops of blood began to follow the lancet—at first falling +singly, and then trickling in a freer stream—when, in consequence of the +application of cold water to the temples, and aromatics to the nostrils, the +old man sighed feebly, and made an effort to move his limbs, Albert Lee changed +his posture, at once to throw himself at the feet of the clergyman, and kiss, +if he would have permitted him, his shoes and the hem of his raiment. +</p> + +<p> +“Rise, foolish youth,” said the good man, with a reproving tone; +“must it be always thus with you? Kneel to Heaven, not to the feeblest of +its agents. You have been saved once again from great danger; would you deserve +Heaven’s bounty, remember you have been preserved for other purposes than +you now think on. Begone, you and Joceline—you have a duty to discharge; +and be assured it will go better with your father’s recovery that he see +you not for a few minutes. Down—down to the wilderness, and bring in your +attendant.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks,” answered Albert Lee; and, +springing through the lattice, he disappeared as unexpectedly as he had +entered. At the same time Joceline followed him, and by the same road. +</p> + +<p> +Alice, whose fears for her father were now something abated, upon this new +movement among the persons of the scene, could not resist appealing to her +venerable assistant. “Good doctor, answer me but one question. Was my +brother Albert here just now, or have I dreamed all that has happened for these +ten minutes past? Methinks, but for your presence, I could suppose the whole +had passed in my sleep; that horrible thrust—that death-like, corpse-like +old man—that soldier in mute despair; I must indeed have dreamed.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you have dreamed, my sweet Alice,” said the doctor, “I +wish every sick-nurse had your property, since you have been attending to our +patient better during your sleep than most of these old dormice can do when +they are most awake. But your dream came through the gate of horn, my pretty +darling, which you must remind me to explain to you at leisure. Albert has +really been here, and will be here again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Albert!” repeated Sir Henry, “who names my son?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is I, my kind patron,” said the doctor; “permit me to +bind up your arm.” +</p> + +<p> +“My wound?—with all my heart, doctor,” said Sir Henry, +raising himself, and gathering his recollection by degrees. “I knew of +old thou wert body-curer as well as soul-curer, and served my regiment for +surgeon as well as chaplain.—But where is the rascal I killed?—I +never made a fairer <i>stramaçon</i> in my life. The shell of my rapier struck +against his ribs. So, dead he must be, or my right hand has forgot its +cunning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody was slain,” said the doctor; “we must thank God for +that, since there were none but friends to slay. Here is a good cloak and +doublet, though, wounded in a fashion which will require some skill in +tailor-craft to cure. But I was your last antagonist, and took a little blood +from you, merely to prepare you for the pleasure and surprise of seeing your +son, who, though hunted pretty close, as you may believe, hath made his way +from Worcester hither, where, with Joceline’s assistance, we will care +well enough for his safety. It was even for this reason that I pressed you to +accept of your nephew’s proposal to return to the old Lodge, where a +hundred men might be concealed, though a thousand were making search to +discover them. Never such a place for hide-and-seek, as I shall make good when +I can find means to publish my Wonders of Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my son—my dear son,” said the knight, “shall I +not then instantly see him! and wherefore did you not forewarn me of this +joyful event?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I was uncertain of his motions,” said the doctor, +“and rather thought he was bound for the sea-side, and that it would be +best to tell you of his fate when he was safe on board, and in full sail for +France. We had appointed to let you know all when I came hither to-night to +join you. But there is a red-coat in the house whom we care not to trust +farther than we could not help. We dared not, therefore, venture in by the +hall; and so, prowling round the building, Albert informed us, that an old +prank of his, when a boy, consisted of entering by this window. A lad who was +with us would needs make the experiment, as there seemed to be no light in the +chamber, and the moonlight without made us liable to be detected. His foot +slipped, and our friend Bevis came upon us.” +</p> + +<p> +“In good truth, you acted simply,” said Sir Henry, “to attack +a garrison without a summons. But all this is nothing to my son, +Albert—where is he?—Let me see him.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Sir Henry, wait,” said the doctor, “till your restored +strength”— +</p> + +<p> +“A plague of my restored strength, man!” answered the knight, as +his old spirit began to awaken within him.—“Dost not remember, that +I lay on Edgehill-field all night, bleeding like a bullock from five several +wounds, and wore my armour within six weeks? and you talk to me of the few +drops of blood that follow such a scratch as a cat’s claw might have +made!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, if you feel so courageous,” said the doctor, “I will +fetch your son—he is not far distant.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he left the apartment, making a sign to Alice to remain, in case any +symptoms of her father’s weakness should return. +</p> + +<p> +It was fortunate, perhaps, that Sir Henry never seemed to recollect the precise +nature of the alarm, which had at once, and effectually as the shock of the +thunderbolt, for the moment suspended his faculties. Something he said more +than once of being certain he had done mischief with that <i>stramaçon</i>, as +he called it; but his mind did not recur to that danger, as having been +incurred by his son. Alice, glad to see that her father appeared to have +forgotten a circumstance so fearful, (as men often forget the blow, or other +sudden cause, which has thrown them into a swoon,) readily excused herself from +throwing much light on the matter, by pleading the general confusion. And in a +few minutes, Albert cut off all farther enquiry, by entering the room, followed +by the doctor, and throwing himself alternately into the arms of his father and +of his sister. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The boy is—hark ye, sirrah—what’s your name?—<br/> +Oh, Jacob—ay, I recollect—the same. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +C<small>RABBE</small>. +</p> + +<p> +The affectionate relatives were united as those who, meeting under great +adversity, feel still the happiness of sharing it in common. They embraced +again and again, and gave way to those expansions of the heart, which at once +express and relieve the pressure of mental agitation. At length the tide of +emotion began to subside; and Sir Henry, still holding his recovered son by the +hand, resumed the command of his feelings which he usually practised. +</p> + +<p> +“So you have seen the last of our battles, Albert,” he said, +“and the King’s colours have fallen for ever before the +rebels.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is but even so,” said the young man—“the last cast +of the die was thrown, and, alas! lost at Worcester; and Cromwell’s +fortune carried it there, as it has wherever he has shown himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—it can but be for a time—it can but be for a +time,” answered his father; “the devil is potent, they say, in +raising and gratifying favourites, but he can grant but short leases.—And +the King—the King, Albert—the King—in my ear—close, +close!” +</p> + +<p> +“Our last news were confident that he had escaped from Bristol.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God for that—thank God for that!” said the knight. +“Where didst thou leave him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Our men were almost all cut to pieces at the bridge,” Albert +replied; “but I followed his Majesty with about five hundred other +officers and gentlemen, who were resolved to die around him, until as our +numbers and appearance drew the whole pursuit after us, it pleased his Majesty +to dismiss us, with many thanks and words of comfort to us in general, and some +kind expressions to most of us in especial. He sent his royal greeting to you, +sir, in particular, and said more than becomes me to repeat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I will hear it every word, boy,” said Sir Henry; “is +not the certainty that thou hast discharged thy duty, and that King Charles +owns it, enough to console me for all we have lost and suffered, and wouldst +thou stint me of it from a false shamefacedness?—I will have it out of +thee, were it drawn from thee with cords!” +</p> + +<p> +“It shall need no such compulsion,” said the young +man—“It was his Majesty’s pleasure to bid me tell Sir Henry +Lee, in his name, that if his son could not go before his father in the race of +loyalty, he was at least following him closely, and would soon move side by +side.” +</p> + +<p> +“Said he so?” answered the knight—“Old Victor Lee will +look down with pride on thee, Albert!—But I forget—you must be +weary and hungry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” said Albert; “but these are things which of late I +have been in the habit of enduring for safety’s sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Joceline!—what ho, Joceline!” +</p> + +<p> +The under-keeper entered, and received orders to get supper prepared directly. +</p> + +<p> +“My son and Dr. Rochecliffe are half starving,” said the knight. +“And there is a lad, too, below,” said Joceline; “a page, he +says, of Colonel Albert’s, whose belly rings cupboard too, and that to no +common tune; for I think he could eat a horse, as the Yorkshireman says, behind +the saddle. He had better eat at the sideboard; for he has devoured a whole +loaf of bread and butter, as fast as Phœbe could cut it, and it has not staid +his stomach for a minute—and truly I think you had better keep him under +your own eyes, for the steward beneath might ask him troublesome questions if +he went below—And then he is impatient, as all your gentlemen pages are, +and is saucy among the women.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whom is it he talks of?—what page hast thou got, Albert, that +bears himself so ill?” said Sir Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“The son of a dear friend, a noble lord of Scotland, who followed the +great Montrose’s banner—afterwards joined the King in Scotland, and +came with him as far as Worcester. He was wounded the day before the battle, +and conjured me to take this youth under my charge, which I did, something +unwillingly; but I could not refuse a father, perhaps on his death-bed, +pleading for the safety of an only son.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou hadst deserved an halter, hadst thou hesitated” said Sir +Henry; “the smallest tree can always give some shelter,—and it +pleases me to think the old stock of Lee is not so totally prostrate, but it +may yet be a refuge for the distressed. Fetch the youth in;—he is of +noble blood, and these are no times of ceremony—he shall sit with us at +the same table, page though he be; and if you have not schooled him handsomely +in his manners, he may not be the worse of some lessons from me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will excuse his national drawling accent, sir?” said Albert, +“though I know you like it not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have small cause, Albert,” answered the +knight—“small cause.—Who stirred up these +disunions?—the Scots. Who strengthened the hands of Parliament, when +their cause was well nigh ruined?—the Scots again. Who delivered up the +King, their countryman, who had flung himself upon. their protection?—the +Scots again. But this lad’s father, you say, has fought on the part of +the noble Montrose; and such a man as the great Marquis may make amends for the +degeneracy of a whole nation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, father,” said Albert, “and I must add, that though this +lad is uncouth and wayward, and, as you will see, something wilful, yet the +King has not a more zealous friend in England; and, when occasion offered, he +fought stoutly, too, in his defence—I marvel he comes not.” +</p> + +<p> +“He hath taken the bath” said Joceline, “and nothing less +would serve than that he should have it immediately—the supper, he said, +might be got ready in the meantime; and he commands all about him as if he were +in his father’s old castle, where he might have called long enough, I +warrant, without any one to hear him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed?” said Sir Henry, “this must be a forward chick of +the game, to crow so early.—What is his name?” +</p> + +<p> +“His name?—it escapes me every hour, it is so hard a one,” +said Albert—“Kerneguy is his name—Louis Kerneguy; his father +was Lord Killstewers, of Kincardineshire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Kerneguy, and Killstewers, and Kin—what d’ye call +it?—Truly,” said the knight, “these northern men’s +names and titles smack of their origin—they sound like a north-west wind, +rumbling and roaring among heather and rocks.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is but the asperities of the Celtic and Saxon dialects,” said +Dr. Rochecliffe, “which, according to Verstegan, still linger in those +northern parts of the island.—But peace—here comes supper, and +Master Louis Kerneguy.” +</p> + +<p> +Supper entered accordingly, borne in by Joceline and Phœbe, and after it, +leaning on a huge knotty stick, and having his nose in the air like a questing +hound—for his attention was apparently more fixed on the good provisions +that went before him, than any thing else—came Master Kerneguy, and +seated himself, without much ceremony, at the lower end of the table. +</p> + +<p> +He was a tall, rawboned lad, with a shock head of hair, fiery red, like many of +his country, while the harshness of his national features was increased by the +contrast of his complexion, turned almost black by the exposure to all sorts of +weather, which, in that skulking and rambling mode of life, the fugitive +royalists had been obliged to encounter. His address was by no means +prepossessing, being a mixture of awkwardness and forwardness, and showing in a +remarkable degree, how a want of easy address may be consistent with an +admirable stock of assurance. His face intimated having received some recent +scratches, and the care of Dr. Rochecliffe had decorated it with a number of +patches, which even enhanced its natural plainness. Yet the eyes were brilliant +and expressive, and, amid his ugliness—for it amounted to that degree of +irregularity—the face was not deficient in some lines which expressed +both sagacity and resolution. +</p> + +<p> +The dress of Albert himself was far beneath his quality, as the son of Sir +Henry Lee, and commander of a regiment in the royal service; but that of his +page was still more dilapidated. A disastrous green jerkin, which had been +changed to a hundred hues by sun and rain, so that the original could scarce be +discovered, huge clouterly shoes, leathern breeches—such as were worn by +hedgers—coarse grey worsted stockings, were the attire of the honourable +youth, whose limping gait, while it added to the ungainliness of his manner, +showed, at the same time, the extent of his sufferings. His appearance bordered +so much upon what is vulgarly called the queer, that even with Alice it would +have excited some sense of ridicule, had not compassion been predominant. +</p> + +<p> +The grace was said, and the young squire of Ditchley, as well as Dr. +Rochecliffe, made an excellent figure at a meal, the like of which, in quality +and abundance, did not seem to have lately fallen to their share. But their +feats were child’s-play to those of the Scottish youth. Far from +betraying any symptoms of the bread and butter with which he had attempted to +close the orifice of his stomach, his appetite appeared to have been sharpened +by a nine-days’ fast; and the knight was disposed to think that the very +genius of famine himself, come forth from his native regions of the north, was +in the act of honouring him with a visit, while, as if afraid of losing a +moment’s exertion, Master Kerneguy never looked either to right or left, +or spoke a single word to any at table. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to see that you have brought a good appetite for our country +fare, young gentleman,” said Sir Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“Bread of gude, sir!” said the page, “an ye’ll find +flesh, I’se find appetite conforming, ony day o’ the year. But the +truth is, sir, that the appeteezement has been coming on for three days or +four, and the meat in this southland of yours has been scarce, and hard to come +by; so, sir, I’m making up for lost time, as the piper of Sligo said, +when he eat a hail side o’ mutton.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have been country-bred, young man,” said the knight, who, like +others of his time, held the reins of discipline rather tight over the rising +generation; “at least, to judge from the youths of Scotland whom I have +seen at his late Majesty’s court in former days; they had less appetite, +and more—more”—As he sought the qualifying phrase, which +might supply the place of “good manners,” his guest closed the +sentence in his own way—“And more meat, it may be—the better +luck theirs.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry stared and was silent. His son seemed to think it time to +interpose—“My dear father,” he said, “think how many +years have run since the Thirty-eight, when the Scottish troubles first began, +and I am sure that you will not wonder that, while the Barons of Scotland have +been, for one cause or other, perpetually in the field, the education of their +children at home must have been much neglected, and that young men of my +friend’s age know better how to use a broadsword, or to toss a pike, than +the decent ceremonials of society.” +</p> + +<p> +“The reason is a sufficient one,” said the knight, “and, +since thou sayest thy follower Kernigo can fight, we’ll not let him lack +victuals, a God’s name.—See, he looks angrily still at yonder cold +loin of mutton—for God’s sake put it all on his plate!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can bide the bit and the buffet,” said the honourable Master +Kerneguy—“a hungry tike ne’er minds a blaud with a rough +bane.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, God ha’e mercy, Albert, but if this be the son of a Scots +peer,” said Sir Henry to his son, in a low tone of voice, “I would +not be the English ploughman who would change manners with him for his ancient +blood, and his nobility, and his estate to boot, an he has one.—He has +eaten, as I am a Christian, near four pounds of solid butcher’s meat, and +with the grace of a wolf tugging at the carcass of a dead horse.— Oh, he +is about to drink at last—Soh!—he wipes his mouth, +though,—and dips his fingers in the ewer—and dries them, I profess, +with the napkin!—there is some grace in him, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here is wussing all your vera gude healths!” said the youth of +quality, and took a draught in proportion to the solids which he had sent +before; he then flung his knife and fork awkwardly on the trencher, which he +pushed back towards the centre of the table, extended his feet beneath it till +they rested on their heels, folded his arms on his well-replenished stomach, +and, lolling back in his chair, looked much as if he was about to whistle +himself asleep. +</p> + +<p> +“Soh!” said the knight—“the honourable Master Kernigo +hath laid down his arms.—Withdraw these things, and give us our +glasses—Fill them around, Joceline; and if the devil or the whole +Parliament were within hearing, let them hear Henry Lee of Ditchley drink a +health to King Charles, and confusion to his enemies!” +</p> + +<p> +“Amen!” said a voice from behind the door. +</p> + +<p> +All the company looked at each other in astonishment, at a response so little +expected. It was followed by a solemn and peculiar tap, such as a kind of +freemasonry had introduced among royalists, and by which they were accustomed +to make themselves and their principles known to each other, when they met by +accident. +</p> + +<p> +“There is no danger,” said Albert, knowing the sign—“it +is a friend;—yet I wish he had been at a greater distance just +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why, my son, should you wish the absence of one true man, who may, +perhaps, wish to share our abundance, on one of those rare occasions when we +have superfluity at our disposal?—Go, Joceline, see who knocks—and, +if a safe man, admit him.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if otherwise,” said Joceline, “methinks I shall be able +to prevent his troubling the good company.” +</p> + +<p> +“No violence, Joceline, on your life,” said Albert Lee; and Alice +echoed, “For God’s sake, no violence!” +</p> + +<p> +“No unnecessary violence at least,” said the good knight; +“for if the time demands it, I will have it seen that I am master of my +own house.” Joceline Joliffe nodded assent to all parties, and went on +tiptoe to exchange one or two other mysterious symbols and knocks, ere he +opened the door. It, may be here remarked, that this species of secret +association, with its signals of union, existed among the more dissolute and +desperate class of cavaliers, men habituated to the dissipated life which they +had been accustomed to in an ill-disciplined army, where everything like order +and regularity was too apt to be accounted a badge of puritanism. These were +the “roaring boys” who met in hedge alehouses, and when they had by +any chance obtained a little money or a little credit, determined to create a +counter-revolution by declaring their sittings permanent, and proclaimed, in +the words of one of their choicest ditties,— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“We’ll drink till we bring<br/> +In triumph back the king.” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +The leaders and gentry, of a higher description and more regular morals, did +not indeed partake such excesses, but they still kept their eye upon a class of +persons, who, from courage and desperation, were capable of serving on an +advantageous occasion the fallen cause of royalty; and recorded the lodges and +blind taverns at which they met, as wholesale merchants know the houses of call +of the mechanics whom they may have occasion to employ, and can tell where they +may find them when need requires it. It is scarce necessary to add, that among +the lower class, and sometimes even among the higher, there were men found +capable of betraying the projects and conspiracies of their associates, whether +well or indifferently combined, to the governors of the state. Cromwell, in +particular, had gained some correspondents of this kind of the highest rank, +and of the most undoubted character, among the royalists, who, if they made +scruple of impeaching or betraying individuals who confided in them, had no +hesitation in giving the government such general information as served to +enable him to disappoint the purposes of any plot or conspiracy. +</p> + +<p> +To return to our story. In much shorter time than we have spent in reminding +the reader of these historical particulars, Joliffe had made his mystic +communication; and being duly answered as by one of the initiated, he undid the +door, and there entered our old friend Roger Wildrake, round-head in dress, as +his safety and dependence on Colonel Everard compelled him to be, but that +dress worn in a most cavalier-like manner, and forming a stronger contrast than +usual with the demeanour and language of the wearer, to which it was never very +congenial. +</p> + +<p> +His puritanic hat, the emblem of that of Ralpho in the prints to Hudibras, or, +as he called it, his felt umbrella, was set most knowingly on one side of the +head, as if it had been a Spanish hat and feather; his straight square-caped +sad-coloured cloak was flung gaily upon one shoulder, as if it had been of +three-plied taffeta, lined with crimson silk; and he paraded his huge calf-skin +boots, as if they had been silken hose and Spanish leather shoes, with roses on +the instep. In short, the airs which he gave himself, of a most thorough-paced +wild gallant and cavalier, joined to a glistening of self-satisfaction in his +eye, and an inimitable swagger in his gait, which completely announced his +thoughtless, conceited, and reckless character, formed a most ridiculous +contrast to his gravity of attire. +</p> + +<p> +It could not, on the other hand, be denied, that in spite of the touch of +ridicule which attached to his character, and the loose morality which he had +learned in the dissipation of town pleasures, and afterwards in the disorderly +life of a soldier, Wildrake had points about him both to make him feared and +respected. He was handsome, even in spite of his air of debauched effrontery; a +man of the most decided courage, though his vaunting rendered it sometimes +doubtful; and entertained a sincere sense of his political principles, such as +they were, though he was often so imprudent in asserting and boasting of them, +as, joined with his dependence on Colonel Everard, induced prudent men to doubt +his sincerity. +</p> + +<p> +Such as he was, however, he entered the parlour of Victor Lee, where his +presence was any thing but desirable to the parties present, with a jaunty +step, and a consciousness of deserving the best possible reception. This +assurance was greatly aided by circumstances which rendered it obvious, that if +the jocund cavalier had limited himself to one draught of liquor that evening, +in terms of his vow of temperance, it must have been a very deep and long one. +</p> + +<p> +“Save ye, gentlemen, save ye.—Save you, good Sir Henry Lee, though +I have scarce the honour to be known to you.—Save you, worthy doctor, and +a speedy resurrection to the fallen Church of England.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are welcome, sir,” said Sir Henry Lee, whose feelings of +hospitality, and of the fraternal reception due to a royalist sufferer, induced +him to tolerate this intrusion more than he might have done otherwise. +“If you have fought or suffered for the King, sir, it is an excuse for +joining us, and commanding our services in any thing in our +power—although at present we are a family-party.—But I think I saw +you in waiting upon Master Markham Everard, who calls himself Colonel +Everard.—If your message is from him, you may wish to see me in +private?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all, Sir Henry, not at all.—It is true, as my ill hap will +have it, that being on the stormy side of the hedge—like all honest +men—you understand me, Sir Henry—I am glad, as it were, to gain +something from my old friend and comrade’s countenance—not by +truckling or disowning my principles, sir—I defy such +practises;—but, in short, by doing him any kindness in my power when he +is pleased to call on me. So I came down here with a message from him to the +old roundheaded son of a —— (I beg the young lady’s pardon, +from the crown of her head down to the very toes of her slipper)—And so, +sir, chancing as I was stumbling out in the dark, I heard you give a toast, +sir, which warmed my heart, sir, and ever will, sir, till death chills +it;—and so I made bold to let you know there was an honest man within +hearing.” +</p> + +<p> +Such was the self-introduction of Master Wildrake, to which the knight replied, +by asking him to sit down, and take a glass of sack to his Majesty’s +glorious restoration. Wildrake, at this hint, squeezed in without ceremony +beside the young Scotsman, and not only pledged his landlord’s toast, but +seconded its import, by volunteering a verse or two of his favourite loyal +ditty,—“The King shall enjoy his own again.” The heartiness +which he threw into his song opened still farther the heart of the old knight, +though Albert and Alice looked at each other with looks resentful of the +intrusion, and desirous to put an end to it. The honourable Master Kerneguy +either possessed that happy indifference of temper which does not deign to +notice such circumstances, or he was able to assume the appearance of it to +perfection, as he sat sipping sack, and cracking walnuts, without testifying +the least sense that an addition had been made to the party. Wildrake, who +liked the liquor and the company, showed no unwillingness to repay his +landlord, by being at the expense of the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“You talk of fighting and suffering, Sir Henry Lee. Lord help us, we have +all had our share. All the world knows what Sir Henry Lee has done from +Edgefield downwards, wherever a loyal sword was drawn, or a loyal flag +fluttered. Ah, God help us! I have done something too. My name is Roger +Wildrake of Squattlesea-mere, Lincoln; not that you are ever like to have heard +it before, but I was captain in Lunsford’s light-horse, and afterwards +with Goring. I was a child-eater, sir—a babe-bolter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard of your regiment’s exploits, sir; and perhaps you may +find I have seen some of them, if we should spend ten minutes together. And I +think I have heard of your name too. I beg to drink your health, Captain +Wildrake of Squattlesea-mere, Lincolnshire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Henry, I drink yours in this pint bumper, and upon my knee; and I +would do as much for that young gentleman”—(looking at +Albert)—“and the squire of the green cassock too, holding it for +green, as the colours are not to my eyes altogether clear and +distinguishable.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a remarkable part of what is called by theatrical folk the by-play of +this scene, that Albert was conversing apart with Dr. Rochecliffe in whispers, +even more than the divine seemed desirous of encouraging; yet, to whatever +their private conversation referred, it did not deprive the young Colonel of +the power of listening to what was going forward in the party at large, and +interfering from time to time, like a watch-dog, who can distinguish the +slightest alarm, even when employed in the engrossing process of taking his +food. +</p> + +<p> +“Captain Wildrake,” said Albert, “we have no +objection—I mean, my friend and I—to be communicative on proper +occasions; but you, sir, who are so old a sufferer, must needs know, that at +such casual meetings as this, men do not mention their names unless they are +specially wanted. It is a point of conscience, sir, to be able to say, if your +principal, Captain Everard or Colonel Everard, if he be a Colonel, should +examine you upon oath, I did not know who the persons were whom I heard drink +such and such toasts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Faith, I have a better way of it, worthy sir,” answered Wildrake; +“I never can, for the life of me, remember that there were any such and +such toasts drunk at all. It’s a strange gift of forgetfulness I +have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” replied the younger Lee; “but we, who have +unhappily more tenacious memories, would willingly abide by the more general +rule.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir,” answered Wildrake, “with all my heart. I intrude +on no man’s confidence, d—n me—and I only spoke for +civility’s sake, having the purpose of drinking your health in a good +fashion”—(Then he broke forth into melody)— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Then let the health go round, a-round, a-round, a-round,<br/> +Then let the health go round;<br/> +For though your stocking be of silk,<br/> +Your knee shall kiss the ground, a-ground, a-ground, a-ground,<br/> +Your knee shall kiss the ground.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Urge it no farther,” said Sir Henry, addressing his son; +“Master Wildrake is one of the old school—one of the tantivy boys; +and we must bear a little, for if they drink hard they fought well. I will +never forget how a party came up and rescued us clerks of Oxford, as they +called the regiment I belonged to, out of a cursed embroglio during the attack +on Brentford. I tell you we were enclosed with the cockneys’ pikes both +front and rear, and we should have come off but ill had not Lunford’s +light-horse, the babe-eaters, as they called them, charged up to the +pike’s point, and brought us off.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you thought on that, Sir Henry,” said Wildrake; +“and do you remember what the officer of Lunsford’s said?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I do,” said Sir Henry, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, did not he call out, when the women were coming down, +howling like sirens as they were—‘Have none of you a plump child +that you could give us to break our fast upon?’” +</p> + +<p> +“Truth itself!” said the knight; “and a great fat woman +stepped forward with a baby, and offered it to the supposed cannibal.” +</p> + +<p> +All at the table, Master Kerneguy excepted, who seemed to think that good food +of any kind required no apology, held up their hands in token of amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Wildrake, “the—a-hem!—I crave the +lady’s pardon again, from tip of top-knot to hem of farthingale—but +the cursed creature proved to be a parish nurse, who had been paid for the +child half a year in advance. Gad, I took the babe out of the +bitch-wolf’s hand; and I have contrived, though God knows I have lived in +a skeldering sort of way myself, to breed up bold Breakfast, as I call him, +ever since. It was paying dear for a jest, though.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, I honour you for your humanity,” said the old +knight—“Sir, I thank you for your courage—Sir, I am glad to +see you here,” said the good knight, his eyes watering almost to +overflowing. “So you were the wild officer who cut us out of the toils; +Oh, sir, had you but stopped when I called on you, and allowed us to clear the +streets of Brentford with our musketeers, we would have been at London Stone +that day! But your good will was the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, truly was it,” said Wildrake, who now sat triumphant and +glorious in his easy-chair; “and here is to all the brave hearts, sir, +that fought and fell in that same storm of Brentford. We drove all before us +like chaff, till the shops, where they sold strong waters, and other +temptations, brought us up. Gad, sir, we, the babe-eaters, had too many +acquaintances in Brentford, and our stout Prince Rupert was ever better at +making way than drawing off. Gad, sir, for my own poor share, I did but go into +the house of a poor widow lady, who maintained a charge of daughters, and whom +I had known of old, to get my horse fed, a morsel of meat, and so forth, when +these cockney-pikes of the artillery ground, as you very well call them, +rallied, and came in with their armed heads, as boldly as so many Cotswold +rams. I sprang down stairs, got to my horse,—but, egad, I fancy all my +troop had widows and orphan maidens to comfort as well as I, for only five of +us got together. We cut our way through successfully; and Gad, gentlemen, I +carried my little Breakfast on the pommel before me; and there was such a +hollowing and screeching, as if the whole town thought I was to kill, roast, +and eat the poor child, so soon as I got to quarters. But devil a cockney +charged up to my bonny bay, poor lass, to rescue little cake-bread; they only +cried haro, and out upon me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, alas!” said the knight, “we made ourselves seem worse +than we were; and we were too bad to deserve God’s blessing even in a +good cause. But it is needless to look back; we did not deserve victories when +God gave them, for we never improved them like good soldiers, or like Christian +men; and so we gave these canting scoundrels the advantage of us, for they +assumed, out of mere hypocrisy, the discipline and orderly behaviour which we, +who drew our swords in a better cause, ought to have practised out of true +principle. But here is my hand, Captain. I have often wished to see the honest +fellow who charged up so smartly in our behalf, and I reverence you for the +care you took of the poor child. I am glad this dilapidated place has still +some hospitality to offer you, although we cannot treat you to roasted babes or +stewed sucklings—eh, Captain?” +</p> + +<p> +“Truth, Sir Henry, the scandal was sore against us on that score. I +remember Lacy, who was an old play-actor, and a lieutenant in ours, made +drollery on it in a play which was sometimes acted at Oxford, when our hearts +were something up, called, I think, the Old Troop.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, and feeling more familiar as his merits were known, he hitched his +chair up against that of the Scottish lad, who was seated next him, and who, in +shifting his place, was awkward enough to disturb, in his turn, Alice Lee, who +sate opposite, and, a little offended, or at least embarrassed, drew her chair +away from the table. +</p> + +<p> +“I crave pardon,” said the honourable Master Kerneguy; “but, +sir,” to Master Wildrake, “ye hae e’en garr’d me hurt +the young lady’s shank.” +</p> + +<p> +“I crave your pardon, sir, and much more that of the fair lady, as is +reasonable; though, rat me, sir, if it was I set your chair a-trundling in that +way. Zooks, sir, I have brought with me no plague, nor pestilence, nor other +infectious disorder, that ye should have started away as if I had been a leper, +and discomposed the lady, which I would have prevented with my life, sir. Sir, +if ye be northern born, as your tongue bespeaks, egad, it was I ran the risk in +drawing near you; so there was small reason for you to bolt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Wildrake,” said Albert, interfering, “this young +gentleman is a stranger as well as you, under protection of Sir Henry’s +hospitality, and it cannot be agreeable for my father to see disputes arise +among his guests. You may mistake the young gentleman’s quality from his +present appearance—this is the Honourable Master Louis Kerneguy, sir, son +of my Lord Killstewers of Kincardineshire, one who has fought for the King, +young as he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“No dispute shall rise through me, sir—none through me,” said +Wildrake; “your exposition sufficeth, sir.—Master Louis Girnigo, +son of my Lord Kilsteer, in Gringardenshire, I am your humble slave, sir, and +drink your health, in token that I honour you, and all true Scots who draw +their Andrew Ferraras on the right side, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’se beholden to you, and thank you, sir,” said the young +man, with some haughtiness of manner, which hardly corresponded with his +rusticity; “and I wuss your health in a ceevil way.” +</p> + +<p> +Most judicious persons would have here dropped the conversation; but it was one +of Wildrake’s marked peculiarities, that he could never let matters stand +when they were well. He continued to plague the shy, proud, and awkward lad +with his observations. “You speak your national dialect pretty strongly, +Master Girnigo,” said he, “but I think not quite the language of +the gallants that I have known among the Scottish cavaliers—I knew, for +example, some of the Gordons, and others of good repute, who always put an +<i>f</i> for <i>wh</i>, as <i>faat</i> for <i>what</i>, <i>fan</i> for +<i>when</i>, and the like.” +</p> + +<p> +Albert Lee here interposed, and said that the provinces of Scotland, like those +of England, had their different modes of pronunciation. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very right, sir,” said Wildrake. “I reckon myself, +now, a pretty good speaker of their cursed jargon—no offence, young +gentleman; and yet, when I took a turn with some of Montrose’s folk, in +the South Highlands, as they call their beastly wildernesses, (no offence +again,) I chanced to be by myself, and to lose my way, when I said to a +shepherd-fellow, making my mouth as wide, and my voice as broad as I could, +<i>whore am I ganging till?</i>—confound me if the fellow could answer +me, unless, indeed, he was sulky, as the bumpkins will be now and then to the +gentlemen of the sword.” +</p> + +<p> +This was familiarly spoken, and though partly addressed to Albert, was still +more directed to his immediate neighbour, the young Scotsman, who seemed, from +bashfulness, or some other reason, rather shy of his intimacy. To one or two +personal touches from Wildrake’s elbow, administered during his last +speech, by way of a practical appeal to him in particular, he only answered, +“Misunderstandings were to be expected when men converse in national +deealects.” +</p> + +<p> +Wildrake, now considerably drunker than he ought to have been in civil company, +caught up the phrase and repeated it:—“Misunderstanding, +sir—Misunderstanding, sir?—I do not know how I am to construe that, +sir; but to judge from the information of these scratches on your honourable +visnomy, I should augur that you had been of late at misunderstanding with the +cat, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are mistaken, then, friend, for it was with the dowg,” +answered the Scotsman, dryly, and cast a look towards Albert. +</p> + +<p> +“We had some trouble with the watch-dogs in entering so late in the +evening,” said Albert, in explanation, “and this youth had a fall +among some rubbish, by which he came by these scratches.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now, dear Sir Henry,” said Dr. Rochecliffe, “allow us to +remind you of your gout, and our long journey. I do it the rather that my good +friend your son has been, during the whole time of supper, putting questions to +me aside, which had much better be reserved till to-morrow—May we +therefore ask permission to retire to our night’s rest?” +</p> + +<p> +“These private committees in a merry meeting,” said Wildrake, +“are a solecism in breeding. They always put me in mind of the cursed +committees at Westminster.—But shall we roost before we rouse the +night-owl with a catch?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aha, canst thou quote Shakspeare?” said Sir Henry, pleased at +discovering a new good quality in his acquaintance, whose military services +were otherwise but just able to counterbalance the intrusive freedom of his +conversation. “In the name of merry Will,” he +continued,—“whom I never saw, though I have seen many of his +comrades, as Alleyn, Hemmings, and so on,—we will have a single catch, +and one rouse about, and then to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +After the usual discussion about the choice of the song, and the parts which +each was to bear, they united their voices in trolling a loyal glee, which was +popular among the party at the time, and in fact believed to be composed by no +less a person than Dr. Rochecliffe himself. +</p> + +<h4>GLEE FOR KING CHARLES.</h4> + +<p class="poem"> +Bring the bowl which you boast,<br/> + Fill it up to the brim;<br/> +’Tis to him we love most,<br/> + And to all who love him.<br/> +Brave gallants, stand up.<br/> + And avauant, ye base carles!<br/> +Were there death in the cup,<br/> + Here’s a health to King Charles!<br/> +<br/> +Though he wanders through dangers,<br/> + Unaided, unknown,<br/> +Dependent ’on strangers,<br/> + Estranged from his own;<br/> +Though ’tis under our breath,<br/> + Amidst forfeits and perils,<br/> +Here’s to honour and faith,<br/> + And a health to King Charles!<br/> +<br/> +Let such honours abound<br/> + As the time can afford.<br/> +The knee on the ground,<br/> + And the hand on the sword;<br/> +But the time shall come round.<br/> + When, ’mid Lords, Dukes, and Earls,<br/> +The loud trumpets shall sound<br/> + Here’s a health to King Charles! +</p> + +<p> +After this display of loyalty, and a final libation, the party took leave of +each other for the night. Sir Henry offered his old acquaintance Wildrake a bed +for the evening, who weighed the matter somewhat in this fashion: “Why, +to speak truth, my patron will expect me at the borough—but then he is +used to my staying out of doors a-nights. Then there’s the Devil, that +they say haunts Woodstock; but with the blessing of this reverend Doctor, I +defy him and all his works—I saw him not when I slept here twice before, +and I am sure if he was absent then, he has not come back with Sir Henry Lee +and his family. So I accept your courtesy, Sir Henry, and I thank you, as a +cavalier of Lunsford should thank one of the fighting clerks of Oxon. God bless +the King! I care not who hears it, and confusion to Noll and his red +nose!” Off he went accordingly with a bottle-swagger, guided by Joceline, +to whom Albert, in the meantime, had whispered, to be sure to quarter him far +enough from the rest of the family. +</p> + +<p> +Young Lee then saluted his sister, and, with the formality of those times, +asked and received his father’s blessing with an affectionate embrace. +His page seemed desirous to imitate one part of his example, but was repelled +by Alice, who only replied to his offered salute with a curtsy. He next bowed +his head in an awkward fashion to her father, who wished him a good night. +“I am glad to see, young man,” he said, “that you have at +least learned the reverence due to age. It should always be paid, sir; because +in doing so you render that honour to others which you will expect yourself to +receive when you approach the close of your life. More will I speak with you at +leisure, on your duties as a page, which office in former days used to be the +very school of chivalry; whereas of late, by the disorderly times, it has +become little better than a school of wild and disordered license; which made +rare Ben Jonson exclaim”— +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, father,” said Albert, interposing, “you must consider +this day’s fatigue, and the poor lad is almost asleep on his +legs—to-morrow he will listen with more profit to your kind +admonitions.—And you, Louis, remember at least one part of your +duty—take the candles and light us—here Joceline comes to show us +the way. Once more, good night, good Dr. Rochecliffe—good night, +all.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +<i>Groom.</i> Hail, noble prince!<br/> +<i>King Richard.</i> Thanks, noble peer;<br/> +The cheapest of us is a groat too dear. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +R<small>ICHARD</small> II +</p> + +<p> +Albert and his page were ushered by Joceline to what was called the Spanish +Chamber, a huge old scrambling bedroom, rather in a dilapidated condition, but +furnished with a large standing-bed for the master, and a truckle-bed for the +domestic, as was common at a much later period in old English houses, where the +gentleman often required the assistance of a groom of the chambers to help him +to bed, if the hospitality had been exuberant. The walls were covered with +hangings of cordovan leather, stamped with gold, and representing fights +between the Spaniards and Moriscoes, bull-feasts, and other sports peculiar to +the Peninsula, from which it took its name of the Spanish Chamber. These +hangings were in some places entirely torn down, in others defaced and hanging +in tatters. But Albert stopped not to make observations, anxious, it seemed, to +get Joceline out of the room; which he achieved by hastily answering his offers +of fresh fuel, and more liquor, in the negative, and returning, with equal +conciseness, the under-keeper’s good wishes for the evening. He at length +retired, somewhat unwillingly, and as if he thought that his young master might +have bestowed a few more words upon a faithful old retainer after so long +absence. +</p> + +<p> +Joliffe was no sooner gone, than, before a single word was spoken between +Albert Lee and his page, the former hastened to the door, examined lock, latch, +and bolt, and made them fast, with the most scrupulous attention. He superadded +to these precautions that of a long screw-bolt, which he brought out of his +pocket, and which he screwed on to the staple in such a manner as to render it +impossible to withdraw it, or open the door, unless by breaking it down. The +page held a light to him during the operation, which his master went through +with much exactness and dexterity. But when Albert arose from his knee, on +which he had rested during the accomplishment of this task, the manner of the +companions was on the sudden entirely changed towards each other. The +honourable Master Kerneguy, from a cubbish lout of a raw Scotsman, seemed to +have acquired at once all the grace and ease of motion and manner, which could +be given by an acquaintance of the earliest and most familiar kind with the +best company of the time. +</p> + +<p> +He gave the light he held to Albert, with the easy indifference of a superior, +who rather graces than troubles his dependent by giving him some slight service +to perform. Albert, with the greatest appearance of deference, assumed in his +turn the character of torch-bearer, and lighted his page across the chamber, +without turning his back upon him as he did so. He then set the light on the +table by the bedside, and approaching the young man with deep reverence, +received from him the soiled green jacket, with the same profound respect as if +he had been a first lord of the bedchamber, or other officer of the household +of the highest distinction, disrobing his Sovereign of the Mantle of the +Garter. The person to whom this ceremony was addressed endured it for a minute +or two with profound gravity, and then bursting out a-laughing, exclaimed to +Albert, “What a devil means all this formality?—thou complimentest +with these miserable rags as if they were silks and sables, and with poor Louis +Kerneguy as if he were the King of Great Britain!” +</p> + +<p> +“And if your Majesty’s commands, and the circumstances of the time, +have made me for a moment seem to forget that you are my sovereign, surely I +may be permitted to render my homage as such while you are in your own royal +palace of Woodstock?” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly,” replied the disguised Monarch, “the sovereign and +the palace are not ill matched;—these tattered hangings and my ragged +jerkin suit each other admirably.—<i>This</i> +Woodstock!—<i>this</i> the bower where the royal Norman revelled with the +fair Rosamond Clifford!—Why, it is a place of assignation for +owls.” Then, suddenly recollecting himself, with his natural courtesy, he +added, as if fearing he might have hurt Albert’s +feelings—“But the more obscure and retired, it is the fitter for +our purpose, Lee; and if it does seem to be a roost for owls, as there is no +denying, why we know it has nevertheless brought up eagles.” +</p> + +<p> +He threw himself as he spoke upon a chair, and indolently, but gracefully, +received the kind offices, of Albert, who undid the coarse buttonings of the +leathern gamashes which defended his legs, and spoke to him the +whilst:—“What a fine specimen of the olden time is your father, Sir +Henry! It is strange I should not have seen him before;—but I heard my +father often speak of him as being among the flower of our real old English +gentry. By the mode in which he began to school me, I can guess you had a tight +taskmaster of him, Albert—I warrant you never wore hat in his presence, +eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never cocked it at least in his presence, please your Majesty, as I +have seen some youngsters do,” answered Albert; “indeed if I had, +it must have been a stout beaver to have saved me from a broken head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I doubt it not,” replied the king; “a fine old +gentleman—but with that, methinks, in his countenance, that assures you +he would not hate the child in sparing the rod.—Hark ye, +Albert—Suppose the same glorious Restoration come round—which, if +drinking to its arrival can hasten it, should not be far distant,—for in +that particular our adherents never neglect their duty, suppose it come, +therefore, and that thy father, as must be of course, becomes an Earl and one +of the Privy Council, oddsfish, man, I shall be as much afraid of him as ever +was my grandfather Henri Quatre of old Sully.—Imagine there were such a +trinket now about the Court as the Fair Rosamond, or La Belle Gabrielle, what a +work there would be of pages, and grooms of the chamber, to get the pretty +rogue clandestinely shuffled out by the backstairs, like a prohibited +commodity, when the step of the Earl of Woodstock was heard in the +antechamber!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to see your Majesty so—merry after your fatiguing +journey.” +</p> + +<p> +“The fatigue was nothing, man,” said Charles; “a kind welcome +and a good meal made amends for all that. But they must have suspected thee of +bringing a wolf from the braes of Badenoch along with you, instead of a +two-legged being, with no more than the usual allowance of mortal stowage for +provisions. I was really ashamed of my appetite; but thou knowest I had eat +nothing for twenty-four hours, save the raw egg you stole for me from the old +woman’s hen-roost—I tell thee, I blushed to show myself so ravenous +before that high-bred and respectable old gentleman your father, and the very +pretty girl your sister—or cousin, is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“She is my sister,” said Albert Lee, dryly, and added, in the same +breath, “Your Majesty’s appetite suited well enough with the +character of a raw northern lad.—Would your Majesty now please to retire +to rest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for a minute or two,” said the King, retaining his seat. +“Why, man, I have scarce had my tongue unchained to-day; and to talk with +that northern twang, and besides, the fatigue of being obliged to speak every +word in character,—Gad, it’s like walking as the galley-slaves do +on the Continent, with a twenty-four pound shot chained to their +legs—they may drag it along, but they cannot move with comfort. And, by +the way, thou art slack in paying me my well-deserved tribute of compliment on +my counterfeiting.—Did I not play Louis Kerneguy as round as a +ring?” +</p> + +<p> +“If your Majesty asks my serious opinion, perhaps I may be forgiven if I +say your dialect was somewhat too coarse for a Scottish youth of high birth, +and your behaviour perhaps a little too churlish. I thought too—though I +pretend not to be skilful—that some of your Scottish sounded as if it +were not genuine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not genuine?—there is no pleasing thee, Albert.—Why, who +should speak genuine Scottish but myself?—Was I not their King for a +matter of ten months? and if I did not get knowledge of their language, I +wonder what else I got by it. Did not east country, and south country, and west +country, and Highlands, caw, croak, and shriek about me, as the deep guttural, +the broad drawl, and the high sharp yelp predominated by turns?—Oddsfish, +man, have I not been speeched at by their orators, addressed by their senators, +rebuked by their kirkmen? Have I not sate on the cutty-stool, mon, [again +assuming the northern dialect,] and thought it grace of worthy Mrs John +Gillespie, that I was permitted to do penance in my own privy chamber, instead +of the face of the congregation? and wilt thou tell me, after all, that I +cannot speak Scotch enough to baffle an Oxon Knight and his family?” +</p> + +<p> +“May it please your Majesty,—I begun by saying I was no judge of +the Scottish language.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw—it is mere envy; just so you said at Norton’s, that I +was too courteous and civil for a young page—now you think me too +rude.” +</p> + +<p> +“And there is a medium, if one could find it,” said Albert, +defending his opinion in the same tone in which the King attacked him; +“so this morning, when you were in the woman’s dress, you raised +your petticoats rather unbecomingly high, as you waded through the first little +stream; and when I told you of it, to mend the matter, you draggled through the +next without raising them at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, the devil take the woman’s dress!” said Charles; “I +hope I shall never be driven to that disguise again. Why, my ugly face was +enough to put gowns, caps, and kirtles, out of fashion for ever—the very +dogs fled from me—Had I passed any hamlet that had but five huts in it, I +could not have escaped the cucking-stool.—I was a libel on womankind. +These leathern conveniences are none of the gayest, but they are <i>propria +quae maribus</i>; and right glad am I to be repossessed of them. I can tell you +too, my friend, I shall resume all my masculine privileges with my proper +habiliments; and as you say I have been too coarse to-night, I will behave +myself like a courtier to Mistress Alice to-morrow. I made a sort of +acquaintance with her already, when I seemed to be of the same sex with +herself, and found out there are other Colonels in the wind besides you, +Colonel Albert Lee.” +</p> + +<p> +“May it please your Majesty,” said Albert—and then stopped +short, from the difficulty of finding words to express the unpleasant nature of +his feelings. They could not escape Charles; but he proceeded without scruple. +“I pique myself on seeing as far into the hearts of young ladies as most +folk, though God knows they are sometimes too deep for the wisest of us. But I +mentioned to your sister in my character of fortune-teller,—thinking, +poor simple man, that a country girl must have no one but her brother to dream +about,—that she was anxious about a certain Colonel. I had hit the theme, +but not the person; for I alluded to you, Albert; and I presume the blush was +too deep ever to be given to a brother. So up she got, and away she flew from +me like a lap-wing. I can excuse her—for, looking at myself in the well, +I think if I had met such a creature as I seemed, I should have called fire and +fagot against it.—Now, what think you, Albert—who can this Colonel +be, that more than rivals you in your sister’s affection?” +</p> + +<p> +Albert, who well knew that the King’s mode of thinking, where the fair +sex was concerned, was far more gay than delicate, endeavoured to put a stop to +the present topic by a grave answer. +</p> + +<p> +“His sister,” he said, “had been in some measure educated +with the son of her maternal uncle, Markham Everard; but as his father and he +himself had adopted the cause of the roundheads, the families had in +consequence been at variance; and any projects which might have been formerly +entertained, were of course long since dismissed on all sides.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are wrong, Albert, you are wrong,” said the King, pitilessly +pursuing his jest. “You Colonels, whether you wear blue or orange sashes, +are too pretty fellows to be dismissed so easily, when once you have acquired +an interest. But Mistress Alice, so pretty, and who wishes the restoration of +the King with such a look and accent, as if she were an angel whose prayers +must needs bring it down, must not be allowed to retain any thoughts of a +canting roundhead—What say you—will you give me leave to take her +to task about it?—After all, I am the party most concerned in maintaining +true allegiance among my subjects; and if I gain the pretty maiden’s good +will, that of the sweetheart’s will soon follow. This was jolly King +Edward’s way—Edward the Fourth, you know. The king-making Earl of +Warwick—the Cromwell of his day—dethroned him more than once; but +he had the hearts of the merry dames of London, and the purses and veins of the +cockneys bled freely, till they brought him home again. How say +you?—shall I shake off my northern slough, and speak with Alice in my own +character, showing what education and manners have done for me, to make the +best amends they can for an ugly face?” +</p> + +<p> +“May it please your Majesty,” said Albert, in an altered and +embarrassed tone, “I did not expect”— +</p> + +<p> +Here he stopped, not able to find words adequate at the same time to express +his sentiments, and respectful enough to the King, while in his father’s +house, and under his own protection. +</p> + +<p> +“And what is it that Master Lee does not expect?” said Charles, +with marked gravity on his part. +</p> + +<p> +Again Albert attempted a reply, but advanced no farther than, “I would +hope, if it please your Majesty”—when he again stopped short, his +deep and hereditary respect for his sovereign, and his sense of the hospitality +due to his misfortunes, preventing his giving utterance to his irritated +feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“And what does Colonel Albert Lee hope?” said Charles, in the same +dry and cold manner in which he had before spoken.—“No +answer?—Now, I <i>hope</i> that Colonel Lee does not see in a silly jest +anything offensive to the honour of his family, since methinks that were an +indifferent compliment to his sister, his father, and himself, not to mention +Charles Stewart, whom he calls his King; and I <i>expect</i>, that I shall not +be so hardly construed, as to be supposed capable of forgetting that Mistress +Alice Lee is the daughter of my faithful subject and host, and the sister of my +guide and preserver.—Come, come, Albert,” he added, changing at +once to his naturally frank and unceremonious manner, “you forget how +long I have been abroad where men, women, and children, talk gallantry morning, +noon, and night, with no more serious thought than just to pass away the time; +and I forget, too, that you are of the old-fashioned English school, a son +after Sir Henry’s own heart, and don’t understand raillery upon +such subjects.—But I ask your pardon, Albert, sincerely, if I have really +hurt you.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he extended his hand to Colonel Lee, who, feeling he had been rather +too hasty in construing the King’s jest in an unpleasant sense, kissed it +with reverence, and attempted an apology. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word—not a word,” said the good-natured Prince, +raising his penitent adherent as he attempted to kneel; “we understand +each other. You are somewhat afraid of the gay reputation which I acquired in +Scotland; but I assure you, I will be as stupid as you or your cousin Colonel +could desire, in presence of Mistress Alice Lee, and only bestow my gallantry, +should I have any to throw away, upon the pretty little waiting-maid who +attended at supper—unless you should have monopolized her ear for your +own benefit, Colonel Albert?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is monopolized, sure enough, though not by me, if it please your +Majesty, but by Joceline Joliffe, the under-keeper, whom we must not disoblige, +as we have trusted him so far already, and may have occasion to repose even +entire confidence in him. I half think he suspects who Louis Kerneguy may in +reality be.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are an engrossing set, you wooers of Woodstock,” said the +King, laughing. “Now, if I had a fancy, as a Frenchman would not fail to +have in such a case, to make pretty speeches to the deaf old woman I saw in the +kitchen, as a pisaller, I dare say I should be told that her ear was engrossed +for Dr. Rochecliffe’s sole use?” +</p> + +<p> +“I marvel at your Majesty’s good spirits,” said Albert, +“that after a day of danger, fatigue, and accidents, you should feel the +power of amusing yourself thus.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is to say, the groom of the chambers wishes his Majesty would go to +sleep?—Well, one word or two on more serious business, and I have +done.—I have been completely directed by you and Rochecliffe—I have +changed my disguise from female to male upon the instant, and altered my +destination from Hampshire to take shelter here—Do you still hold it the +wiser course?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have great confidence in Dr. Rochecliffe,” replied Albert, +“whose acquaintance with the scattered royalists enables him to gain the +most accurate intelligence. His pride in the extent of his correspondence, and +the complication of his plots and schemes for your Majesty’s service, is +indeed the very food he lives upon; but his sagacity is equal to his vanity. I +repose, besides, the utmost faith in Joliffe. Of my father and sister I would +say nothing; yet I would not, without reason, extend the knowledge of your +Majesty’s person farther than it is indispensably necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it handsome in me,” said Charles, pausing, “to withhold +my full confidence from Sir Henry Lee?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Majesty heard of his almost death-swoon of last night—what +would agitate him most deeply must not be hastily communicated.” +</p> + +<p> +“True; but are we safe from a visit of the red-coats—they have them +in Woodstock as well as in Oxford?” said Charles. +</p> + +<p> +“Dr. Rochecliffe says, not unwisely,” answered Lee, “that it +is best sitting near the fire when the chimney smokes; and that Woodstock, so +lately in possession of the sequestrators, and still in the vicinity of the +soldiers, will be less suspected, and more carelessly searched, than more +distant corners, which might seem to promise more safety. Besides,” he +added, “Rochecliffe is in possession of curious and important news +concerning the state of matters at Woodstock, highly favourable to your +Majesty’s being concealed in the palace for two or three days, till +shipping is provided. The Parliament, or usurping Council of State, had sent +down sequestrators, whom their own evil conscience, assisted, perhaps, by the +tricks of some daring cavaliers, had frightened out of the Lodge, without much +desire to come back again. Then the more formidable usurper, Cromwell, had +granted a warrant of possession to Colonel Everard, who had only used it for +the purpose of repossessing his uncle in the Lodge, and who kept watch in +person at the little borough, to see that Sir Henry was not disturbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Mistress Alice’s Colonel?” said the +King—“that sounds alarming;—for grant that he keeps the other +fellows at bay, think you not, Master Albert, he will have an hundred errands +a-day, to bring him here in person?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dr. Rochecliffe says,” answered Lee, “the treaty between Sir +Henry and his nephew binds the latter not to approach the Lodge, unless +invited;—indeed, it was not without great difficulty, and strongly +arguing the good consequences it might produce to your Majesty’s cause, +that my father could be prevailed on to occupy Woodstock at all; but be assured +he will be in no hurry to send an invitation to the Colonel.” +</p> + +<p> +“And be you assured that the Colonel will come without waiting for +one,” said Charles. “Folk cannot judge rightly where sisters are +concerned—they are too familiar with the magnet to judge of its powers of +attraction.—Everard will be here, as if drawn by cart-ropes— +fetters, not to talk of promises, will not hold him—and then, methinks, +we are in some danger.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not,” said Albert. “In the first place, I know +Markham is a slave to his word: besides, were any chance to bring him here, I +think I could pass your Majesty upon him without difficulty, as Louis Kerneguy. +Then, although my cousin and I have not been on good terms for these some +years, I believe him incapable of betraying your Majesty; and lastly, if I saw +the least danger of it, I would, were he ten times the son of my mother’s +sister, run my sword through his body, ere he had time to execute his +purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is but another question,” said Charles, “and I will +release you, Albert:—You seem to think yourself secure from search. It +may be so; but, in any other country, this tale of goblins which is flying +about would bring down priests and ministers of justice to examine the reality +of the story, and mobs of idle people to satisfy their curiosity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Respecting the first, sir, we hope and understand that Colonel +Everard’s influence will prevent any immediate enquiry, for the sake of +preserving undisturbed the peace of his uncle’s family; and as for any +one coming without some sort of authority, the whole neighbours have so much +love and fear of my father, and are, besides, so horribly alarmed about the +goblins of Woodstock, that fear will silence curiosity.” +</p> + +<p> +“On the whole, then,” said Charles, “the chances of safety +seem to be in favour of the plan we have adopted, which is all I can hope for +in a condition where absolute safety is out of the question. The Bishop +recommended Dr. Rochecliffe as one of the most ingenious, boldest, and most +loyal sons of the Church of England; you, Albert Lee, have marked your fidelity +by a hundred proofs. To you and your local knowledge I submit myself.—And +now, prepare our arms—alive I will not be taken;— yet I will not +believe that a son of the King of England, and heir of her throne, could be +destined to danger in his own palace, and under the guard of the loyal +Lees.” +</p> + +<p> +Albert Lee laid pistols and swords in readiness by the King’s bed and his +own; and Charles, after some slight apology, took his place in the larger and +better bed, with a sigh of pleasure, as from one who had not lately enjoyed +such an indulgence. He bid good night to his faithful attendant, who deposited +himself on his truckle; and both monarch and subject were soon fast asleep. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Give Sir Nicholas Threlkeld praise;<br/> +Hear it, good man, old in days,<br/> +Thou tree of succour and of rest<br/> +To this young bird that was distress’d;<br/> +Beneath thy branches he did stay;<br/> +And he was free to sport and play,<br/> +When falcons were abroad for prey. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +W<small>ORDSWORTH</small>. +</p> + +<p> +The fugitive Prince slept, in spite of danger, with the profound repose which +youth and fatigue inspire. But the young cavalier, his guide and guard, spent a +more restless night, starting from time to time, and listening; anxious, +notwithstanding Dr. Rochecliffe’s assurances, to procure yet more +particular knowledge concerning the state of things around them, than he had +been yet able to collect. +</p> + +<p> +He rose early after daybreak; but although he moved with as little noise as was +possible, the slumbers of the hunted Prince were easily disturbed. He started +up in his bed, and asked if there was any alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“None, please your Majesty,” replied Lee; “only, thinking on +the questions your Majesty was asking last night, and the various chances there +are of your Majesty’s safety being endangered from unforeseen accidents, +I thought of going thus early, both to communicate with Dr. Rochecliffe, and to +keep such a look-out as befits the place, where are lodged for the time the +Fortunes of England. I fear I must request of your Majesty, for your own +gracious security, that you have the goodness to condescend to secure the door +with your own hand after I go out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, talk not to Majesty, for Heaven’s sake, dear Albert!” +answered the poor King, endeavouring in vain to put on a part of his clothes, +in order to traverse the room.—“When a King’s doublet and +hose are so ragged that he can no more find his way into them than he could +have travelled through the forest of Deane without a guide, good faith, there +should be an end of Majesty, until it chances to be better accommodated. +Besides, there is the chance of these big words bolting out at unawares, when +there are ears to hear them whom we might think dangerous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your commands shall be obeyed,” said Lee, who had now succeeded in +opening the door; from which he took his departure, leaving the King, who had +hustled along the floor for that purpose, with his dress wofully ill arranged, +to make it fast again behind him, and begging him in no case to open to any +one, unless he or Rochecliffe were of the party who summoned him. +</p> + +<p> +Albert then set out in quest of Dr. Rochecliffe’s apartment, which was +only known to himself and the faithful Joliffe, and had at different times +accommodated that steady churchman with a place of concealment, when, from his +bold and busy temper, which led him into the most extensive and hazardous +machinations on the King’s behalf, he had been strictly sought after by +the opposite party. Of late, the inquest after him had died entirely away, as +he had prudently withdrawn himself from the scene of his intrigues. Since the +loss of the battle of Worcester, he had been afloat again, and more active than +ever; and had, by friends and correspondents, and especially the Bishop of +——, been the means of directing the King’s flight towards +Woodstock, although it was not until the very day of his arrival that he could +promise him a safe reception at that ancient mansion. +</p> + +<p> +Albert Lee, though he revered both the undaunted spirit and ready resources of +the bustling and intriguing churchman, felt he had not been enabled by him to +answer some of Charles’s questions yesternight, in a way so distinct as +one trusted with the King’s safety ought to have done; and it was now his +object to make himself personally acquainted, if possible, with the various +bearings of so weighty a matter, as became a man on whom so much of the +responsibility was likely to descend. +</p> + +<p> +Even his local knowledge was scarce adequate to find the Doctor’s secret +apartment, had he not traced his way after a genial flavour of roasted game +through divers blind passages, and up and down certain very useless stairs, +through cupboards and hatchways, and so forth, to a species of sanctum +sanctorum, where Joceline Joliffe was ministering to the good Doctor a solemn +breakfast of wild-fowl, with a cup of small beer stirred with a sprig of +rosemary, which Dr. Rochecliffe preferred to all strong potations. Beside him +sat Bevis on his tail, slobbering and looking amiable, moved by the rare smell +of the breakfast, which had quite overcome his native dignity of disposition. +</p> + +<p> +The chamber in which the Doctor had established himself was a little octangular +room, with walls of great thickness, within which were fabricated various +issues, leading in different directions, and communicating with different parts +of the building. Around him were packages with arms, and near him one small +barrel, as it seemed, of gunpowder; many papers in different parcels, and +several keys for correspondence in cipher; two or three scrolls covered with +hieroglyphics were also beside him, which Albert took for plans of nativity; +and various models of machinery, in which Dr. Rochecliffe was an adept. There +were also tools of various kinds, masks, cloaks, and a dark lantern, and a +number of other indescribable trinkets belonging to the trade of a daring +plotter in dangerous times. Last, there was a casket with gold and silver coin +of different countries, which was left carelessly open, as if it were the least +of Dr. Rochecliffe’s concern, although his habits in general announced +narrow circumstances, if not actual poverty. Close by the divine’s plate +lay a Bible and Prayer-book, with some proof sheets, as they are technically +called, seemingly fresh from the press. There was also within the reach of his +hand a dirk, or Scottish poniard, a powder-horn, and a musketoon, or +blunderbuss, with a pair of handsome pocket-pistols. In the midst of this +miscellaneous collection, the Doctor sat eating his breakfast with great +appetite, as little dismayed by the various implements of danger around him, as +a workman is when accustomed to the perils of a gunpowder manufactory. +</p> + +<p> +“So, young gentleman,” he said, getting up and extending his hand, +“are you come to breakfast with me in good fellowship, or to spoil my +meal this morning, as you did my supper last night, by asking untimely +questions?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will pick a bone with you with all my heart,” said Albert; +“and if you please, Doctor, I would ask some questions which seem not +quite untimely.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying he sat down, and assisted the Doctor in giving a very satisfactory +account of a brace of wild-ducks and a leash of teal. Bevis, who maintained his +place with great patience and insinuation, had his share of a collop, which was +also placed on the well-furnished board; for, like most high-bred dogs, he +declined eating waterfowl. +</p> + +<p> +“Come hither then, Albert Lee,” said the Doctor, laying down his +knife and fork, and plucking the towel from his throat, so soon as Joceline was +withdrawn; “thou art still the same lad thou wert when I was thy +tutor—never satisfied with having got a grammar rule, but always +persecuting me with questions why the rule stood so, and not otherwise— +over-curious after information which thou couldst not comprehend, as Bevis +slobbered and whined for the duck-wing, which he could not eat.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you will find me more reasonable, Doctor,” answered Albert; +“and at the same time, that you will recollect I am not now <i>sub +ferula</i>, but am placed in circumstances where I am not at liberty to act +upon the <i>ipse dixit</i> of any man, unless my own judgment be convinced. I +shall deserve richly to be hanged, drawn, and quartered, should any misfortune +happen by my misgovernment in this business.” +</p> + +<p> +“And it is therefore, Albert, that I would have thee trust the whole to +me, without interfering. Thou sayest, forsooth, thou art not <i>sub ferula</i>; +but recollect that while you have been fighting in the field, I have been +plotting in the study—that I know all the combinations of the +King’s friends, ay, and all the motions of his enemies, as well as a +spider knows every mesh of his web. Think of my experience, man. Not a cavalier +in the land but has heard of Rochecliffe, the Plotter. I have been a main limb +in every thing that has been attempted since forty-two—penned +declarations, conducted correspondence, communicated with chiefs, recruited +followers, commissioned arms, levied money, appointed rendezvouses. I was in +the Western Riding; and before that, in the City Petition, and in Sir John +Owen’s stir in Wales; in short, almost in every plot for the King, since +Tomkins and Challoner’s matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“But were not all these plots unsuccessful?” said Albert; +“and were not Tomkins and Challoner hanged, Doctor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my young friend,” answered the Doctor, gravely, “as +many others have been with whom I have acted; but only because they did not +follow my advice implicitly. You never heard that I was hanged myself?” +</p> + +<p> +“The time may come, Doctor,” said Albert; “The pitcher goes +oft to the well.—The proverb, as my father would say, is somewhat musty. +But I, too, have some confidence in my own judgment; and, much as I honour the +Church, I cannot altogether subscribe to passive obedience. I will tell you in +one word what points I must have explanation on; and it will remain with you to +give it, or to return a message to the King that you will not explain your +plan; in which case, if he acts by my advice, he will leave Woodstock, and +resume his purpose of getting to the coast without delay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” said the Doctor, “thou suspicious monster, make +thy demands, and, if they be such as I can answer without betraying confidence, +I will reply to them.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the first place, then, what is all this story about ghosts, and +witch-crafts, and apparitions? and do you consider it as safe for his Majesty +to stay in a house subject to such visitations, real or pretended?” +</p> + +<p> +“You must be satisfied with my answer <i>in verbo +sacerdotis</i>—the circumstances you allude to will not give the least +annoyance to Woodstock during the King’s residence. I cannot explain +farther; but for this I will be bound, at the risk of my neck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Lee, “we must take Dr. Rochecliffe’s bail +that the devil will keep the peace towards our Sovereign Lord the +King—good. Now there lurked about this house the greater part of +yesterday, and perhaps slept here, a fellow called Tomkins,—a bitter +Independent, and a secretary, or clerk, or something or other, to the regicide +dog Desborough. The man is well known—a wild ranter in religious +opinions, but in private affairs far-sighted, cunning, and interested even as +any rogue of them all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be assured we will avail ourselves of his crazy fanaticism to mislead +his wicked cunning;—a child may lead a hog, if it has wit to fasten a +cord to the ring in its nose,” replied the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“You may be deceived,” said Albert; “the age has many such as +this fellow, whose views of the spiritual and temporal world are so different, +that they resemble the eyes of a squinting man; one of which, oblique and +distorted, sees nothing but the end of his nose, while the other, instead of +partaking the same defect, views strongly, sharply, and acutely, whatever is +subjected to its scrutiny.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we will put a patch on the better eye,” said the Doctor, +“and he shall only be allowed to speculate with the imperfect optic. You +must know, this fellow has always seen the greatest number, and the most +hideous apparitions; he has not the courage of a cat in such matters, though +stout enough when he hath temporal antagonists before him. I have placed him +under the charge of Joceline Joliffe, who, betwixt plying him with sack and +ghost-stories, would make him incapable of knowing what was done, if you were +to proclaim the King in his presence.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why keep such a fellow here at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir, content you;—he lies leaguer, as a sort of ambassador for +his worthy masters, and we are secure from any intrusion so long as they get +all the news of Woodstock from Trusty Tomkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know Joceline’s honesty well,” said Albert; “and if +he can assure me that he will keep a watch over this fellow, I will so far +trust in him. He does not know the depth of the stake, ’tis true, but +that my life is concerned will be quite enough to keep him +vigilant.—Well, then, I proceed:—What if Markham Everard comes down +on us?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have his word to the contrary,” answered +Rochecliffe—“his word of honour, transmitted by his +friend:—Do you think it likely he will break it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hold him incapable of doing so,” answered Albert; “and, +besides, I think Markham would make no bad use of any thing which might come to +his knowledge—Yet God forbid we should be under the necessity of trusting +any who ever wore the Parliament’s colours in a matter of such dear +concernment!” +</p> + +<p> +“Amen!” said the Doctor.—“Are your doubts silenced +now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I still have an objection,” said Albert, “to yonder impudent +rakehelly fellow, styling himself a cavalier, who rushed himself on our company +last night, and gained my father’s heart by a story of the storm of +Brentford, which I dare say the rogue never saw.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mistake him, dear Albert,” replied +Rochecliffe—“Roger Wildrake, although till of late I only knew him +by name, is a gentleman, was bred at the Inns of Court, and spent his estate in +the King’s service.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or rather in the devil’s service,” said Albert. “It is +such fellows as he, who, sunk from the license of their military habits into +idle debauched ruffians, infest the land with riots and robberies, brawl in +hedge alehouses and cellars where strong waters are sold at midnight, and, with +their deep oaths, their hot loyalty, and their drunken valour, make decent men +abominate the very name of cavalier.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas!” said the Doctor, “it is but too true; but what can +you expect? When the higher and more qualified classes are broken down and +mingled undistinguishably with the lower orders, they are apt to lose the most +valuable marks of their quality in the general confusion of morals and +manners—just as a handful of silver medals will become defaced and +discoloured if jumbled about among the vulgar copper coin. Even the prime medal +of all, which we royalists would so willingly wear next our very hearts, has +not, perhaps, entirely escaped some deterioration—But let other tongues +than mine speak on that subject.” +</p> + +<p> +Albert Lee paused deeply after having heard these communications on the part of +Rochecliffe. “Doctor,” he said, “it is generally agreed, even +by some who think you may occasionally have been a little over busy in putting +men upon dangerous actions”— +</p> + +<p> +“May God forgive them who entertain so false an opinion of me,” +said the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +—“That, nevertheless, you have done and suffered more in the +King’s behalf than any man of your function.” +</p> + +<p> +“They do me but justice there,” said Dr. +Rochecliffe—“absolute justice.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am therefore disposed to abide by your opinion, if, all things +considered, you think it safe that we should remain at Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is not the question,” answered the divine. +</p> + +<p> +“And what is the question, then?” replied the young soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“Whether any safer course can be pointed out. I grieve to say, that the +question must be comparative, as to the point of option. Absolute safety +is—alas the while!—out of the question on all sides. Now, I say +Woodstock is, fenced and guarded as at present, by far the most preferable +place of concealment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough,” replied Albert; “I give up to you the question, as +to a person whose knowledge of such important affairs, not to mention your age +and experience, is more intimate and extensive than mine can be.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do well,” answered Rochecliffe; “and if others had acted +with the like distrust of their own knowledge, and confidence in competent +persons, it had been better for the age. This makes Understanding bar himself +up within his fortalice, and Wit betake himself to his high tower.” (Here +he looked around his cell with an air of self-complacence.) “The wise man +forseeth the tempest, and hideth himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor,” said Albert, “let our foresight serve others far +more precious than either of us. Let me ask you, if you have well considered +whether our precious charge should remain in society with the family, or betake +himself to some of the more hidden corners of the house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hum!” said the Doctor, with an air of deep +reflection—“I think he will be safest as Louis Kerneguy, keeping +himself close beside you”— +</p> + +<p> +“I fear it will be necessary,” added Albert, “that I scout +abroad a little, and show myself in some distant part of the country, lest, +coming here in quest of me, they should find higher game.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray do not interrupt me—Keeping himself close beside you or your +father, in or near to Victor Lee’s apartment, from which you are aware he +can make a ready escape, should danger approach. This occurs to me as best for +the present—I hope to hear of the vessel to-day—to-morrow at +farthest.” +</p> + +<p> +Albert Lee bid the active but opiniated man good morrow; admiring how this +species of intrigue had become a sort of element in which the Doctor seemed to +enjoy himself, notwithstanding all that the poet has said concerning the +horrors which intervene betwixt the conception and execution of a conspiracy. +</p> + +<p> +In returning from Dr. Rochecliffe’s sanctuary, he met with Joceline, who +was anxiously seeking him. “The young Scotch gentleman,” he said, +in a mysterious manner, “has arisen from bed, and, hearing me pass, he +called me into his apartment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied Albert, “I will see him presently.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he asked me for fresh linen and clothes. Now, sir, he is like a man +who is quite accustomed to be obeyed, so I gave him a suit which happened to be +in a wardrobe in the west tower, and some of your linen to conform; and when he +was dressed, he commanded me to show him to the presence of Sir Henry Lee and +my young lady. I would have said something, sir, about waiting till you came +back, but he pulled me goodnaturedly by the hair, (as, indeed, he has a rare +humour of his own,) and told me, he was guest to Master Albert Lee, and not his +prisoner; so, sir, though I thought you might be displeased with me for giving +him the means of stirring abroad, and perhaps being seen by those who should +not see him, what could I say?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a sensible fellow, Joceline, and comprehend always what is +recommended to you. This youth will not be controlled, I fear, by either of us; +but we must look the closer after his safety. You keep your watch over that +prying fellow the steward?” +</p> + +<p> +“Trust him to my care—on that side have no fear. But ah, sir! I +would we had the young Scot in his old clothes again, for the riding-suit of +yours which he now wears hath set him off in other-guess fashion.” +</p> + +<p> +From the manner in which the faithful dependent expressed himself, Albert saw +that he suspected who the Scottish page in reality was; yet he did not think it +proper to acknowledge to him a fact of such importance, secure as he was +equally of his fidelity, whether explicitly trusted to the full extent, or left +to his own conjectures. Full of anxious thought, he went to the apartment of +Victor Lee, in which Joliffe told him he would find the party assembled. The +sound of laughter, as he laid his hand on the lock of the door, almost made him +start, so singularly did it jar with the doubtful and melancholy reflections +which engaged his own mind. He entered, and found his father in high +good-humour, laughing and conversing freely with his young charge, whose +appearance was, indeed, so much changed to the better in externals, that it +seemed scarce possible a night’s rest, a toilet, and a suit of decent +clothes, could have done so much in his favour in so short a time. It could +not, however, be imputed to the mere alteration of dress, although that, no +doubt, had its effect. There was nothing splendid in that which Louis Kerneguy +(we continue to call him by his assumed name) now wore. It was merely a +riding-suit of grey cloth, with some silver lace, in the fashion of a country +gentleman of the time. But it happened to fit him very well, and to become his +very dark complexion, especially as he now held up his head, and used the +manners, not only of a well-behaved but of a highly-accomplished gentleman. +When he moved, his clumsy and awkward limp was exchanged for a sort of shuffle, +which, as it might be the consequence of a wound in those perilous times, had +rather an interesting than an ungainly effect. At least it was as genteel an +expression that the party had been overhard travelled, as the most polite +pedestrian could propose to himself. +</p> + +<p> +The features of the Wanderer were harsh as ever, but his red shock peruke, for +such it proved, was laid aside, his sable elf-locks were trained, by a little +of Joceline’s assistance, into curls, and his fine black eyes shone from +among the shade of these curls, and corresponded with the animated, though not +handsome, character of the whole head. In his conversation, he had laid aside +all the coarseness of dialect which he had so strongly affected on the +preceding evening; and although he continued to speak a little Scotch, for the +support of his character as a young gentleman of that nation, yet it was not in +a degree which rendered his speech either uncouth or unintelligible, but merely +afforded a certain Doric tinge essential to the personage he represented. No +person on earth could better understand the society in which he moved; exile +had made him acquainted with life in all its shades and varieties;—his +spirits, if not uniform, were elastic—he had that species of Epicurean +philosophy, which, even in the most extreme difficulties and dangers, can, in +an interval of ease, however brief, avail itself of the enjoyments of the +moment—he was, in short, in youth and misfortune, as afterwards in his +regal condition, a good-humoured but hard-hearted voluptuary—wise, save +where his passions intervened—beneficent, save when prodigality had +deprived him of the means, or prejudice of the wish, to confer +benefits—his faults such as might often have drawn down hatred, but that +they were mingled with so much urbanity, that the injured person felt it +impossible to retain the full sense of his wrongs. +</p> + +<p> +Albert Lee found the party, consisting of his father, sister, and the supposed +page, seated by the breakfast-table, at which he also took his place. He was a +pensive and anxious beholder of what passed, while the page, who had already +completely gained the heart of the good old cavalier, by mimicking the manner +in which the Scottish divines preached in favour of Ma gude Lord Marquis of +Argyle and the Solemn League and Covenant, was now endeavouring to interest the +fair Alice by such anecdotes, partly of warlike and perilous adventure, as +possessed the same degree of interest for the female ear which they have had +ever since Desdemona’s days. But it was not only of dangers by land and +sea that the disguised page spoke; but much more, and much oftener, on foreign +revels, banquets, balls, where the pride of France, of Spain, or of the Low +Countries, was exhibited in the eyes of their most eminent beauties. Alice +being a very young girl, who, in consequence of the Civil War, had been almost +entirely educated in the country, and often in great seclusion, it was +certainly no wonder that she should listen with willing ears, and a ready +smile, to what the young gentleman, their guest, and her brother’s +protege, told with so much gaiety, and mingled with such a shade of dangerous +adventure, and occasionally of serious reflection, as prevented the discourse +from being regarded as merely light and frivolous. +</p> + +<p> +In a word, Sir Henry Lee laughed, Alice smiled from time to time, and all were +satisfied but Albert, who would himself, however, have been scarce able to +allege a sufficient reason for his depression of spirits. The materials of +breakfast were at last removed, under the active superintendence of the +neat-handed Phœbe, who looked over her shoulder, and lingered more than once, +to listen to the fluent discourse of their new guest, whom, on the preceding +evening, she had, while in attendance at supper, accounted one of the most +stupid inmates to whom the gates of Woodstock had been opened since the times +of Fair Rosamond. +</p> + +<p> +Louis Kerneguy then, when they were left only four in the chamber, without the +interruption of domestics, and the successive bustle occasioned by the +discussion and removal of the morning meal, became apparently sensible, that +his friend and ostensible patron Albert ought not altogether to be suffered to +drop to leeward in the conversation, while he was himself successfully engaging +the attention of those members of his family to whom he had become so recently +known. He went behind his chair, therefore, and, leaning on the back, said with +a good-humoured tone, which made his purpose entirely intelligible,— +</p> + +<p> +“Either my good friend, guide, and patron, has heard worse news this +morning than he cares to tell us, or he must have stumbled over my tattered +jerkin and leathern hose, and acquired, by contact, the whole mass of stupidity +which I threw off last night with those most dolorous garments. Cheer up, my +dear Colonel Albert, if your affectionate page may presume to say so—you +are in company with those whose society, dear to strangers, must be doubly so +to you. Oddsfish, man, cheer up! I have seen you gay on a biscuit and a +mouthful of water-cresses—don’t let your heart fail you on Rhenish +wine and venison.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Louis,” said Albert, rousing himself into exertion, and +somewhat ashamed of his own silence, “I have slept worse, and been astir +earlier than you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be it so,” said his father; “yet I hold it no good excuse +for your sullen silence. Albert, you have met your sister and me, so long +separated from you, so anxious on your behalf, almost like mere strangers, and +yet you are returned safe to us, and you find us well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Returned indeed—but for safety, my dear father, that word must be +a stranger to us Worcester folk for some time. However, it is not my own safety +about which I am anxious.” +</p> + +<p> +“About whose, then, should you be anxious?—All accounts agree that +the King is safe out of the dogs’ jaws.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not without some danger, though,” muttered Louis, thinking of his +encounter with Bevis on the preceding evening. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not without danger, indeed,” echoed the knight; “but, as +old Will says,— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘There’s such divinity doth hedge a king,<br/> +That treason dares not peep at what it would.’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“No, no—thank God, that’s cared for; our Hope and Fortune is +escaped, so all news affirm, escaped from Bristol—if I thought otherwise, +Albert, I should be as sad as you are. For the rest of it, I have lurked a +month in this house when discovery would have been death, and that is no longer +since than after Lord Holland and the Duke of Buckingham’s rising at +Kingston; and hang me, if I thought once of twisting my brow into such a tragic +fold as yours, but cocked my hat at misfortune as a cavalier should.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I might put in a word,” said Louis, “it would be to +assure Colonel Albert Lee that I verily believe the King would think his own +hap, wherever he may be, much the worse that his best subjects were seized with +dejection on his account.” +</p> + +<p> +“You answer boldly on the King’s part, young man,” said Sir +Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my father was meikle about the King’s hand,” answered +Louis, recollecting his present character. +</p> + +<p> +“No wonder, then,” said Sir Henry, “that you have so soon +recovered your good spirits and good breeding, when you heard of his +Majesty’s escape. Why, you are no more like the lad we saw last night, +than the best hunter I ever had was like a dray-horse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, there is much in rest, and food, and grooming,” answered +Louis. “You would hardly know the tired jade you dismounted from last +night, when she is brought out prancing and neighing the next morning, rested, +refreshed, and ready to start again—especially if the brute hath some +good blood, for such pick up unco fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, but since thy father was a courtier, and thou hast learned, +I think, something of the trade, tell us a little, Master Kerneguy, of him we +love most to hear about—the King; we are all safe and secret, you need +not be afraid. He was a hopeful youth; I trust his flourishing blossom now +gives promise of fruit?” +</p> + +<p> +As the knight spoke, Louis bent his eyes on the ground, and seemed at first +uncertain what to answer. But, admirable at extricating himself from such +dilemmas, he replied, “that he really could not presume to speak on such +a subject in the presence of his patron, Colonel Albert Lee, who must be a much +better judge of the character of King Charles than he could pretend to +be.” +</p> + +<p> +Albert was accordingly next assailed by the Knight, seconded by Alice, for some +account of his Majesty’s character. +</p> + +<p> +“I will speak but according to facts,” said Albert; “and then +I must be acquitted of partiality. If the King had not possessed enterprise and +military skill, he never would have attempted the expedition to +Worcester;—had he not had personal courage, he had not so long disputed +the battle that Cromwell almost judged it lost. That he possesses prudence and +patience, must be argued from the circumstances attending his flight; and that +he has the love of his subjects is evident, since, necessarily known to many, +he has been betrayed by none.” +</p> + +<p> +“For shame, Albert!” replied his sister; “is that the way a +good cavalier doles out the character of his Prince, applying an instance at +every concession, like a pedlar measuring linen with his rod?—Out upon +you!—no wonder you were beaten, if you fought as coldly for your King as +you now talk for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did my best to trace a likeness from what I have seen and known of the +original, sister Alice,” replied her brother.—“If you would +have a fancy portrait, you must get an artist of more imagination than I have +to draw it for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will be that artist myself” said Alice; “and, in <i>my</i> +portrait, our Monarch shall show all that he ought to be, having such high +pretensions—all that he must be, being so loftily descended—all +that I am sure he is, and that every loyal heart in the kingdom ought to +believe him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well said, Alice,” quoth the old knight—“Look thou +upon this picture, and on this!—Here is our young friend shall judge. I +wager my best nag—that is, I would wager him had I one left—that +Alice proves the better painter of the two.—My son’s brain is still +misty, I think, since his defeat—he has not got the smoke of Worcester +out of it. Plague on thee!—a young man, and cast down for one beating? +Had you been banged twenty times like me, it had been time to look +grave.—But come, Alice, forward; the colours are mixed on your +pallet—forward with something that shall show like one of Vandyck’s +living portraits, placed beside the dull dry presentation there of our ancestor +Victor Lee.” +</p> + +<p> +Alice, it must be observed, had been educated by her father in the notions of +high and even exaggerated loyalty, which characterized the cavaliers, and she +was really an enthusiast in the royal cause. But, besides, she was in good +spirits at her brother’s happy return, and wished to prolong the gay +humour in which her father had of late scarcely ever indulged. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” she said, “though I am no Apelles, I will try +to paint an Alexander, such as I hope, and am determined to believe, exists in +the person of our exiled sovereign, soon I trust to be restored. And I will not +go farther than his own family. He shall have all the chivalrous courage, all +the warlike skill, of Henry of France, his grandfather, in order to place him +on the throne; all his benevolence, love of his people, patience even of +unpleasing advice, sacrifice of his own wishes and pleasures to the commonweal, +that, seated there, he may be blest while living, and so long remembered when +dead, that for ages after it shall be thought sacrilege to breathe an aspersion +against the throne which he had occupied! Long after he is dead, while there +remains an old man who has seen him, were the condition of that survivor no +higher than a groom or a menial, his age shall be provided for at the public +charge, and his grey hairs regarded with more distinction than an earl’s +coronet, because he remembers the Second Charles, the monarch of every heart in +England!” +</p> + +<p> +While Alice spoke, she was hardly conscious of the presence of any one save her +father and brother; for the page withdrew himself somewhat from the circle, and +there was nothing to remind her of him. She gave the reins, therefore, to her +enthusiasm; and as the tears glittered in her eye, and her beautiful features +became animated, she seemed like a descended cherub proclaiming the virtues of +a patriot monarch. The person chiefly interested in her description held +himself back, as we have said, and concealed his own features, yet so as to +preserve a full view of the beautiful speaker. +</p> + +<p> +Albert Lee, conscious in whose presence this eulogium was pronounced, was much +embarrassed; but his father, all whose feelings were flattered by the +panegyric, was in rapture. +</p> + +<p> +“So much for the <i>King</i>, Alice,” he said, “and now for +the <i>Man</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“For the man,” replied Alice, in the same tone, “need I wish +him more than the paternal virtues of his unhappy father, of whom his worst +enemies have recorded, that if moral virtues and religious faith were to be +selected as the qualities which merited a crown, no man could plead the +possession of them in a higher or more indisputable degree. Temperate, wise, +and frugal, yet munificent in rewarding merit—a friend to letters and the +muses, but a severe discourager of the misuse of such gifts—a worthy +gentleman—a kind master—the best friend, the best father, the best +Christian”—Her voice began to falter, and her father’s +handkerchief was already at his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“He was, girl, he was!” exclaimed Sir Henry; “but no more +on’t, I charge ye—no more on’t—enough; let his son but +possess his virtues, with better advisers, and better fortunes, and he will be +all that England, in her warmest wishes, could desire.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause after this; for Alice felt as if she had spoken too frankly +and too zealously for her sex and youth. Sir Henry was occupied in melancholy +recollections on the fate of his late sovereign, while Kerneguy and his +supposed patron felt embarrassed, perhaps from a consciousness that the real +Charles fell far short of his ideal character, as designed in such glowing +colours. In some cases, exaggerated or unappropriate praise becomes the most +severe satire. +</p> + +<p> +But such reflections were not of a nature to be long willingly cherished by the +person to whom they might have been of great advantage. He assumed a tone of +raillery, which is, perhaps, the readiest mode of escaping from the feelings of +self-reproof. “Every cavalier,” he said, “should bend his +knee to thank Mistress Alice Lee for having made such a flattering portrait of +the King their master, by laying under contribution for his benefit the virtues +of all his ancestors; only there was one point he would not have expected a +female painter to have passed over in silence. When she made him, in right of +his grandfather and father, a muster of royal and individual excellences, why +could she not have endowed him at the same time with his mother’s +personal charms? Why should not the son of Henrietta Maria, the finest woman of +her day, add the recommendations of a handsome face and figure to his internal +qualities? He had the same hereditary title to good looks as to mental +qualifications; and the picture, with such an addition, would be perfect in its +way—and God send it might be a resemblance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand you, Master Kerneguy,” said Alice; “but I am no +fairy, to bestow, as those do in the nursery tales, gifts which Providence has +denied. I am woman enough to have made enquiries on the subject, and I know the +general report is, that the King, to have been the son of such handsome +parents, is unusually hard-favoured.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God, sister!” said Albert, starting impatiently from his +seat. “Why, you yourself told me so,” said Alice, surprised at the +emotion he testified; “and you said”— +</p> + +<p> +“This is intolerable,” muttered Albert; “I must out to speak +with Joceline without delay—Louis,” (with an imploring look to +Kerneguy,) “you will surely come with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would with all my heart,” said Kerneguy, smiling maliciously; +“but you see how I suffer still from lameness.—Nay, nay, +Albert,” he whispered, resisting young Lee’s attempt to prevail on +him to leave the room, “can you suppose I am fool enough to be hurt by +this?—on the contrary, I have a desire of profiting by it.” +</p> + +<p> +“May God grant it!” said Lee to himself, as he left the +room—“it will be the first lecture you ever profited by; and the +devil confound the plots and plotters who made me bring you to this +place!” So saying, he carried his discontent forth into the Park. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +For there, they say, he daily doth frequent<br/> +With unrestrained loose companions;<br/> +While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy,<br/> +Takes on the point of honour, to support<br/> +So dissolute a crew. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +R<small>ICHARD</small> II. +</p> + +<p> +The conversation which Albert had in vain endeavoured to interrupt, flowed on +in the same course after he had left the room. It entertained Louis Kerneguy; +for personal vanity, or an over-sensitiveness to deserved reproof, were not +among the faults of his character, and were indeed incompatible with an +understanding, which, combined with more strength of principle, steadiness of +exertion, and self-denial, might have placed Charles high on the list of +English monarchs. On the other hand, Sir Henry listened with natural delight to +the noble sentiments uttered by a being so beloved as his daughter. His own +parts were rather steady than brilliant; and he had that species of imagination +which is not easily excited without the action of another, as the electrical +globe only scintillates when rubbed against its cushion. He was well pleased, +therefore, when Kerneguy pursued the conversation, by observing that Mistress +Alice Lee had not explained how the same good fairy that conferred moral +qualities, could not also remove corporeal blemishes. +</p> + +<p> +“You mistake, sir,” said Alice. “I confer nothing. I do but +attempt to paint our King such as I <i>hope</i> he is—such as I am sure +he <i>may</i> be, should he himself desire to be so. The same general report +which speaks of his countenance as unprepossessing, describes his talents as +being of the first order. He has, therefore, the means of arriving at +excellence, should he cultivate them sedulously and employ them +usefully—should he rule his passions and be guided by his understanding. +Every good man cannot be wise; but it is in the power of every wise man, if he +pleases, to be as eminent for virtue as for talent.” +</p> + +<p> +Young Kerneguy rose briskly, and took a turn through the room; and ere the +knight could make any observation on the singular vivacity in which he had +indulged, he threw himself again into his chair, and said, in rather an altered +tone of voice—“It seems, then, Mistress Alice Lee, that the good +friends who have described this poor King to you, have been as unfavourable in +their account of his morals as of his person?” +</p> + +<p> +“The truth must be better known to you, sir,” said Alice, +“than it can be to me. Some rumours there have been which accuse him of a +license, which, whatever allowance flatterers make for it, does not, to say the +least, become the son of the Martyr—I shall be happy to have these +contradicted on good authority.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am surprised at your folly,” said Sir Henry Lee, “in +hinting at such things, Alice; a pack of scandal, invented by the rascals who +have usurped the government—a thing devised by the enemy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sir,” said Kerneguy, laughing, “we must not let our +zeal charge the enemy with more scandal than they actually deserve. Mistress +Alice has put the question to me. I can only answer, that no one can be more +devotedly attached to the King than I myself,—that I am very partial to +his merits and blind to his defects;—and that, in short, I would be the +last man in the world to give up his cause where it was tenable. Nevertheless, +I must confess, that if all his grandfather of Navarre’s morals have not +descended to him, this poor King has somehow inherited a share of the specks +that were thought to dim the lustre of that great Prince—that Charles is +a little soft-hearted, or so, where beauty is concerned.—Do not blame him +too severely, pretty Mistress Alice; when a man’s hard fate has driven +him among thorns, it were surely hard to prevent him from trifling with the few +roses he may find among them?” +</p> + +<p> +Alice, who probably thought the conversation had gone far enough, rose while +Master Kerneguy was speaking, and was leaving the room before he had finished, +without apparently hearing the interrogation with which he concluded. Her +father approved of her departure, not thinking the turn which Kerneguy had +given to the discourse altogether fit for her presence; and, desirous civilly +to break off the conversation, “I see,” he said, “this is +about the time, when, as Will says, the household affairs will call my daughter +hence; I will therefore challenge you, young gentleman, to stretch your limbs +in a little exercise with me, either at single rapier, or rapier and poniard, +back-sword, spadroon, or your national weapons of broad-sword and target; for +all or any of which I think we shall find implements in the hall.” +</p> + +<p> +It would be too high a distinction, Master Kerneguy said, for a poor page to be +permitted to try a passage of arms with a knight so renowned as Sir Henry Lee, +and he hoped to enjoy so great an honour before he left Woodstock; but at the +present moment his lameness continued to give him so much pain, that he should +shame himself in the attempt. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry then offered to read him a play of Shakspeare, and for this purpose +turned up King Richard II. But hardly had he commenced with +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Old John of Gaunt, time-honored Lancaster,” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +when the young gentleman was seized with such an incontrollable fit of the +cramp as could only be relieved by immediate exercise. He therefore begged +permission to be allowed to saunter abroad for a little while, if Sir Henry Lee +considered he might venture without danger. +</p> + +<p> +“I can answer for the two or three of our people that are still left +about the place,” said Sir Henry; “and I know my son has disposed +them so as to be constantly on the watch. If you hear the bell toll at the +Lodge, I advise you to come straight home by the way of the King’s Oak, +which you see in yonder glade towering above the rest of the trees. We will +have some one stationed there to introduce you secretly into the house.” +</p> + +<p> +The page listened to these cautions with the impatience of a schoolboy, who, +desirous of enjoying his holiday, hears without marking the advice of tutor or +parent, about taking care not to catch cold, and so forth. +</p> + +<p> +The absence of Alice Lee had removed all which had rendered the interior of the +Lodge agreeable, and the mercurial young page fled with precipitation from the +exercise and amusement which Sir Henry had proposed. He girded on his rapier, +and threw his cloak, or rather that which belonged to his borrowed suit, about +him, bringing up the lower part so as to muffle the face and show only the eyes +over it, which was a common way of wearing them in those days, both in streets, +in the country, and in public places, when men had a mind to be private, and to +avoid interruption from salutations and greetings in the market-place. He +hurried across the open space which divided the front of the Lodge from the +wood, with the haste of a bird, escaped from the cage, which, though joyful at +its liberation, is at the same time sensible of its need of protection and +shelter. The wood seemed to afford these to the human fugitive, as it might +have done to the bird in question. +</p> + +<p> +When under the shadow of the branches, and within the verge of the forest, +covered from observation, yet with the power of surveying the front of the +Lodge, and all the open ground before it, the supposed Louis Kerneguy meditated +on his escape. +</p> + +<p> +“What an infliction—to fence with a gouty old man, who knows not, I +dare say, a trick of the sword which was not familiar in the days of old +Vincent Saviolo! or, as a change of misery, to hear him read one of those +wildernesses of scenes which the English call a play, from prologue to +epilogue—from Enter the first to the final <i>Exeunt omnes</i>—an +unparalleled horror—a penance which would have made a dungeon darker, and +added dullness even to Woodstock!” +</p> + +<p> +Here he stopped and looked around, then continued his +meditations—“So, then, it was here that the gay old Norman secluded +his pretty mistress—I warrant, without having seen her, that Rosamond +Clifford was never half so handsome as that lovely Alice Lee. And what a soul +there is in the girl’s eye!—with what abandonment of all respects, +save that expressing the interest of the moment, she poured forth her tide of +enthusiasm! Were I to be long here, in spite of prudence, and half-a-dozen very +venerable obstacles beside, I should be tempted to try to reconcile her to the +indifferent visage of this same hard-favoured Prince.—Hard +favoured?—it is a kind of treason for one who pretends to so much +loyalty, to say so of the King’s features, and in my mind deserves +punishment.—Ah, pretty Mistress Alice! many a Mistress Alice before you +has made dreadful exclamations on the irregularities of mankind, and the +wickedness of the age, and ended by being glad to look out for apologies for +their own share in them. But then her father—the stout old +cavalier—my father’s old friend—should such a thing befall, +it would break his heart.—Break a pudding’s-end—he has more +sense. If I give his grandson a title to quarter the arms of England, what +matter if a bar sinister is drawn across them?—Pshaw! far from an +abatement, it is a point of addition—the heralds in their next visitation +will place him higher in the roll for it. Then, if he did wince a little at +first, does not the old traitor deserve it;—first, for his disloyal +intention of punching mine anointed body black and blue with his vile +foils—and secondly, his atrocious complot with Will Shakspeare, a fellow +as much out of date as himself, to read me to death with five acts of a +historical play, or chronicle, ‘being the piteous Life and Death of +Richard the Second?’ Odds-fish, my own life is piteous enough, as I +think; and my death may match it, for aught I see coming yet. Ah, but then the +brother—my friend—my guide—my guard—So far as this +little proposed intrigue concerns him, such practising would be thought not +quite fair. But your bouncing, swaggering, revengeful brothers exist only on +the theatre. Your dire revenge, with which a brother persecuted a poor fellow +who had seduced his sister, or been seduced by her, as the case might be, as +relentlessly as if he had trodden on his toes without making an apology, is +entirely out of fashion, since Dorset killed the Lord Bruce many a long year +since. Pshaw! when a King is the offender, the bravest man sacrifices nothing +by pocketing a little wrong which he cannot personally resent. And in France, +there is not a noble house, where each individual would not cock his hat an +inch higher, if they could boast of such a left-handed alliance with the Grand +Monarque.” +</p> + +<p> +Such were the thoughts which rushed through the mind of Charles, at his first +quitting the Lodge of Woodstock, and plunging into the forest that surrounded +it. His profligate logic, however, was not the result of his natural +disposition, nor received without scruple by his sound understanding. It was a +train of reasoning which he had been led to adopt from his too close intimacy +with the witty and profligate youth of quality by whom he had been surrounded. +It arose from the evil communication with Villiers, Wilmot, Sedley, and others, +whose genius was destined to corrupt that age, and the Monarch on whom its +character afterwards came so much to depend. Such men, bred amidst the license +of civil war, and without experiencing that curb which in ordinary times the +authority of parents and relations imposes upon the headlong passions of youth, +were practised in every species of vice, and could recommend it as well by +precept as by example, turning into pitiless ridicule all those nobler feelings +which withhold men from gratifying lawless passion. The events of the +King’s life had also favoured his reception of this Epicurean doctrine. +He saw himself, with the highest claims to sympathy and assistance, coldly +treated by the Courts which he visited, rather as a permitted supplicant, than +an exiled Monarch. He beheld his own rights and claims treated with scorn and +indifference; and, in the same proportion, he was reconciled to the +hard-hearted and selfish course of dissipation, which promised him immediate +indulgence. If this was obtained at the expense of the happiness of others, +should he of all men be scrupulous upon the subject, since he treated others +only as the world treated him? +</p> + +<p> +But although the foundations of this unhappy system had been laid, the Prince +was not at this early period so fully devoted to it as he was found to have +become, when a door was unexpectedly opened for his restoration. On the +contrary, though the train of gay reasoning which we have above stated, as if +it had found vent in uttered language, did certainly arise in his mind, as that +which would have been suggested by his favourite counsellors on such occasions, +he recollected that what might be passed over as a peccadillo in France or the +Netherlands, or turned into a diverting novel or pasquinade by the wits of his +own wandering Court, was likely to have the aspect of horrid ingratitude and +infamous treachery among the English gentry, and would inflict a deep, perhaps +an incurable wound upon his interests, among the more aged and respectable part +of his adherents. Then it occurred to him—for his own interest did not +escape him, even in this mode of considering the subject—that he was in +the power of the Lees, father and son, who were always understood to be at +least sufficiently punctilious on the score of honour; and if they should +suspect such an affront as his imagination had conceived, they could be at no +loss to find means of the most ample revenge, either by their own hands, or by +those of the ruling faction. +</p> + +<p> +“The risk of re-opening the fatal window at Whitehall, and renewing the +tragedy of the Man in the Mask, were a worse penalty,” was his final +reflection, “than the old stool of the Scottish penance; and pretty +though Alice Lee is, I cannot afford to intrigue at such a hazard. So, +farewell, pretty maiden! unless, as sometimes has happened, thou hast a humour +to throw thyself at thy King’s feet, and then I am too magnanimous to +refuse thee my protection. Yet, when I think of the pale clay-cold figure of +the old man, as he lay last night extended before me, and imagine the fury of +Albert Lee raging with impatience, his hand on a sword which only his loyalty +prevents him from plunging into his sovereign’s heart—nay, the +picture is too horrible! Charles must for ever change his name to Joseph, even +if he were strongly tempted; which may Fortune in mercy prohibit!” +</p> + +<p> +To speak the truth of a prince, more unfortunate in his early companions, and +the callousness which he acquired by his juvenile adventures and irregular mode +of life, than in his natural disposition, Charles came the more readily to this +wise conclusion, because he was by no means subject to those violent and +engrossing passions, to gratify which the world has been thought well lost. His +amours, like many of the present day, were rather matters of habit and fashion, +than of passion and affection: and, in comparing himself in this respect to his +grandfather, Henry IV., he did neither his ancestor nor himself perfect +justice. He was, to parody the words of a bard, himself actuated by the stormy +passions which an intriguer often only simulates,— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +None of those who loved so kindly,<br/> +None of those who loved so blindly. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +An amour was with him a matter of amusement, a regular consequence, as it +seemed to him, of the ordinary course of things in society. He was not at the +trouble to practise seductive arts, because he had seldom found occasion to +make use of them; his high rank, and the profligacy of part of the female +society with which he had mingled, rendering them unnecessary. Added to this, +he had, for the same reason, seldom been crossed by the obstinate interference +of relations, or even of husbands, who had generally seemed not unwilling to +suffer such matters to take their course. +</p> + +<p> +So that, notwithstanding his total looseness of principle, and systematic +disbelief in the virtue of women, and the honour of men, as connected with the +character of their female relatives, Charles was not a person to have +studiously introduced disgrace into a family, where a conquest might have been +violently disputed, attained with difficulty, and accompanied with general +distress, not to mention the excitation of all fiercer passions against the +author of the scandal. +</p> + +<p> +But the danger of the King’s society consisted in his being much of an +unbeliever in the existence of such cases as were likely to be embittered by +remorse on the part of the principal victim, or rendered perilous by the +violent resentment of her connexions or relatives. He had even already found +such things treated on the continent as matters of ordinary occurrence, +subject, in all cases where a man of high influence was concerned, to an easy +arrangement; and he was really, generally speaking, sceptical on the subject of +severe virtue in either sex, and apt to consider it as a veil assumed by +prudery in women, and hypocrisy in men, to extort a higher reward for their +compliance. +</p> + +<p> +While we are discussing the character of his disposition to gallantry, the +Wanderer was conducted, by the walk he had chosen, through several whimsical +turns, until at last it brought him under the windows of Victor Lee’s +apartment, where he descried Alice watering and arranging some flowers placed +on the oriel window, which was easily accessible by daylight, although at night +he had found it a dangerous attempt to scale it. But not Alice only, her father +also showed himself near the window, and beckoned him up. The family party +seemed now more promising than before, and the fugitive Prince was weary of +playing battledore and shuttlecock with his conscience, and much disposed to +let matters go as chance should determine. +</p> + +<p> +He climbed lightly up the broken ascent, and was readily welcomed by the old +knight, who held activity in high honour. Alice also seemed glad to see the +lively and interesting young man; and by her presence, and the unaffected mirth +with which she enjoyed his sallies, he was animated to display those qualities +of wit and humour, which nobody possessed in a higher degree. +</p> + +<p> +His satire delighted the old gentleman, who laughed till his eyes ran over as +he heard the youth, whose claims to his respect he little dreamed of, amusing +him with successive imitations of the Scottish Presbyterian clergymen, of the +proud and poor Hidalgo of the North, of the fierce and over-weening pride and +Celtic dialect of the mountain chief, of the slow and more pedantic Lowlander, +with all of which his residence in Scotland had made him familiar. Alice also +laughed, and applauded, amused herself, and delighted to see that her father +was so; and the whole party were in the highest glee, when Albert Lee entered, +eager to find Louis Kerneguy, and to lead him away to a private colloquy with +Dr. Rochecliffe, whose zeal, assiduity, and wonderful possession of +information, had constituted him their master-pilot in those difficult times. +</p> + +<p> +It is unnecessary to introduce the reader to the minute particulars of their +conference. The information obtained was so far favourable, that the enemy +seemed to have had no intelligence of the King’s route towards the south, +and remained persuaded that he had made his escape from Bristol, as had been +reported, and as had indeed been proposed; but the master of the vessel +prepared for the King’s passage had taken the alarm, and sailed without +his royal freight. His departure, however, and the suspicion of the service in +which he was engaged, served to make the belief general, that the King had gone +off along with him. +</p> + +<p> +But though this was cheering, the Doctor had more unpleasant tidings from the +sea-coast, alleging great difficulties in securing a vessel, to which it might +be fit to commit a charge so precious; and, above all, requesting his Majesty +might on no account venture to approach the shore, until he should receive +advice that all the previous arrangements had been completely settled. +</p> + +<p> +No one was able to suggest a safer place of residence than that which he at +present occupied. Colonel Everard was deemed certainly not personally +unfriendly to the King; and Cromwell, as was supposed, reposed in Everard an +unbounded confidence. The interior presented numberless hiding-places, and +secret modes of exit, known to no one but the ancient residents of the +Lodge—nay, far better to Rochecliffe than to any of them; as, when Rector +at the neighbouring town, his prying disposition as an antiquary had induced +him to make very many researches among the old ruins—the results of which +he was believed, in some instances, to have kept to himself. +</p> + +<p> +To balance these conveniences, it was no doubt true, that the Parliamentary +Commissioners were still at no great distance, and would be ready to resume +their authority upon the first opportunity. But no one supposed such an +opportunity was likely to occur; and all believed, as the influence of Cromwell +and the army grew more and more predominant, that the disappointed +Commissioners would attempt nothing in contradiction to his pleasure, but wait +with patience an indemnification in some other quarter for their vacated +commissions. Report, through the voice of Master Joseph Tomkins, stated, that +they had determined, in the first place, to retire to Oxford, and were making +preparations accordingly. This promised still farther to insure the security of +Woodstock. It was therefore settled, that the King, under the character of +Louis Kerneguy, should remain an inmate of the Lodge, until a vessel should be +procured for his escape, at the port which might be esteemed the safest and +most convenient. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The deadliest snakes are those which, twined ’mongst flowers,<br/> +Blend their bright colouring with the varied blossoms,<br/> +Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled dew-drop;<br/> +In all so like what nature has most harmless,<br/> +That sportive innocence, which dreads no danger,<br/> +Is poison’d unawares. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +O<small>LD</small> P<small>LAY</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Charles (we must now give him his own name) was easily reconciled to the +circumstances which rendered his residence at Woodstock advisable. No doubt he +would much rather have secured his safety by making an immediate escape out of +England; but he had been condemned already to many uncomfortable +lurking-places, and more disagreeable disguises, as well as to long and +difficult journeys, during which, between pragmatical officers of justice +belonging to the prevailing party, and parties of soldiers whose officers +usually took on them to act on their own warrant, risk of discovery had more +than once become very imminent. He was glad, therefore, of comparative repose, +and of comparative safety. +</p> + +<p> +Then it must be considered, that Charles had been entirely reconciled to the +society at Woodstock since he had become better acquainted with it. He had +seen, that, to interest the beautiful Alice, and procure a great deal of her +company, nothing more was necessary than to submit to the humours, and +cultivate the intimacy, of the old cavalier her father. A few bouts at fencing, +in which Charles took care not to put out his more perfect skill, and full +youthful strength and activity—the endurance of a few scenes from +Shakspeare, which the knight read with more zeal than taste—a little +skill in music, in which the old man had been a proficient—the deference +paid to a few old-fashioned opinions, at which Charles laughed in his +sleeve—were all-sufficient to gain for the disguised Prince an interest +in Sir Henry Lee, and to conciliate in an equal degree the good-will of his +lovely daughter. +</p> + +<p> +Never were there two young persons who could be said to commence this species +of intimacy with such unequal advantages. Charles was a libertine, who, if he +did not in cold blood resolve upon prosecuting his passion for Alice to a +dishonourable conclusion, was at every moment liable to be provoked to attempt +the strength of a virtue, in which he was no believer. Then Alice, on her part, +hardly knew even what was implied by the word libertine or seducer. Her mother +had died early in the commencement of the Civil War, and she had been bred up +chiefly with her brother and cousin; so that she had an unfearing and +unsuspicious frankness of manner, upon which Charles was not unwilling or +unlikely to put a construction favourable to his own views. Even Alice’s +love for her cousin—the first sensation which awakens the most innocent +and simple mind to feelings of shyness and restraint towards the male sex in +general—had failed to excite such an alarm in her bosom. They were nearly +related; and Everard, though young, was several years her elder, and had, from +her infancy, been an object of her respect as well as of her affection. When +this early and childish intimacy ripened into youthful love, confessed and +returned, still it differed in some shades from the passion existing between +lovers originally strangers to each other, until their affections have been +united in the ordinary course of courtship. Their love was fonder, more +familiar, more perfectly confidential; purer too, perhaps, and more free from +starts of passionate violence, or apprehensive jealousy. +</p> + +<p> +The possibility that any one could have attempted to rival Everard in her +affection, was a circumstance which never occurred to Alice; and that this +singular Scottish lad, whom she laughed with on account of his humour, and +laughed at for his peculiarities, should be an object of danger or of caution, +never once entered her imagination. The sort of intimacy to which she admitted +Kerneguy was the same to which she would have received a companion of her own +sex, whose manners she did not always approve, but whose society she found +always amusing. +</p> + +<p> +It was natural that the freedom of Alice Lee’s conduct, which arose from +the most perfect indifference, should pass for something approaching to +encouragement in the royal gallant’s apprehension, and that any +resolutions he had formed against being tempted to violate the hospitality of +Woodstock, should begin to totter, as opportunities for doing so became more +frequent. +</p> + +<p> +These opportunities were favoured by Albert’s departure from Woodstock +the very day after his arrival. It had been agreed, in full council with +Charles and Rochecliffe, that he should go to visit his uncle Everard in the +county of Kent, and, by showing himself there, obviate any cause of suspicion +which might arise from his residence at Woodstock, and remove any pretext for +disturbing his father’s family on account of their harbouring one who had +been so lately in arms. He had also undertaken, at his own great personal risk, +to visit different points on the sea-coast, and ascertain the security of +different places for providing shipping for the King’s leaving England. +</p> + +<p> +These circumstances were alike calculated to procure the King’s safety, +and facilitate his escape. But Alice was thereby deprived of the presence of +her brother, who would have been her most watchful guardian, but who had set +down the King’s light talk upon a former occasion to the gaiety of his +humour, and would have thought he had done his sovereign great injustice, had +he seriously suspected him of such a breach of hospitality as a dishonourable +pursuit of Alice would have implied. +</p> + +<p> +There were, however, two of the household at Woodstock, who appeared not so +entirely reconciled with Louis Kerneguy or his purposes. The one was Bevis, who +seemed, from their first unfriendly rencontre, to have kept up a pique against +their new guest, which no advances on the part of Charles were able to soften. +If the page was by chance left alone with his young mistress, Bevis chose +always to be of the party; came close by Alice’s chair, and growled +audibly when the gallant drew near her. “It is a pity,” said the +disguised Prince, “that your Bevis is not a bull-dog, that we might dub +him a roundhead at once—He is too handsome, too noble, too aristocratic, +to nourish those inhospitable prejudices against a poor houseless cavalier. I +am convinced the spirit of Pym or Hampden has transmigrated into the rogue and +continues to demonstrate his hatred against royalty and all its +adherents.” +</p> + +<p> +Alice would then reply, that Bevis was loyal in word and deed, and only partook +her father’s prejudices against the Scots, which, she could not but +acknowledge, were tolerably strong. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, then,” said the supposed Louis, “I must find some other +reason, for I cannot allow Sir Bevis’s resentment to rest upon national +antipathy. So we will suppose that some gallant cavalier, who wended to the +wars and never returned, has adopted this shape to look back upon the haunts he +left so unwillingly, and is jealous at seeing even poor Louis Kerneguy drawing +near to the lady of his lost affections.”—He approached her chair +as he spoke, and Bevis gave one of his deep growls. +</p> + +<p> +“In that case, you had best keep your distance,” said Alice, +laughing, “for the bite of a dog, possessed by the ghost of a jealous +lover, cannot be very safe.” And the King carried on the dialogue in the +same strain—which, while it led Alice to apprehend nothing more serious +than the apish gallantry of a fantastic boy, certainly induced the supposed +Louis Kerneguy to think that he had made one of those conquests which often and +easily fall to the share of sovereigns. Notwithstanding the acuteness of his +apprehension, he was not sufficiently aware that the Royal Road to female +favour is only open to monarchs when they travel in grand costume, and that +when they woo incognito, their path of courtship is liable to the same windings +and obstacles which obstruct the course of private individuals. +</p> + +<p> +There was, besides Bevis, another member of the family, who kept a look-out +upon Louis Kerneguy, and with no friendly eye. Phœbe Mayflower, though her +experience extended not beyond the sphere of the village, yet knew the world +much better than her mistress, and besides she was five years older. More +knowing, she was more suspicious. She thought that odd-looking Scotch boy made +more up to her young mistress than was proper for his condition of life; and, +moreover, that Alice gave him a little more encouragement than Parthenia would +have afforded to any such Jack-a-dandy, in the absence of Argalus—for the +volume treating of the loves of these celebrated Arcadians was then the +favourite study of swains and damsels throughout merry England. Entertaining +such suspicions, Phœbe was at a loss how to conduct herself on the occasion, +and yet resolved she would not see the slightest chance of the course of +Colonel Everard’s true love being obstructed, without attempting a +remedy. She had a peculiar favour for Markham herself; and, moreover, he was, +according to her phrase, as handsome and personable a young man as was in +Oxfordshire; and this Scottish scarecrow was no more to be compared to him than +chalk was to cheese. And yet she allowed that Master Girnigy had a wonderfully +well-oiled tongue, and that such gallants were not to be despised. What was to +be done?—she had no facts to offer, only vague suspicion; and was afraid +to speak to her mistress, whose kindness, great as it was, did not, +nevertheless, encourage familiarity. +</p> + +<p> +She sounded Joceline; but he was, she knew not why, so deeply interested about +this unlucky lad, and held his importance so high, that she could make no +impression on him. To speak to the old knight would have been to raise a +general tempest. The worthy chaplain, who was, at Woodstock, grand referee on +all disputed matters, would have been the damsel’s most natural resource, +for he was peaceful as well as moral by profession, and politic by practice. +But it happened he had given Phœbe unintentional offence by speaking of her +under the classical epithet of <i>Rustica Fidele</i>, the which epithet, as she +understood it not, she held herself bound to resent as contumelious, and +declaring she was not fonder of a <i>fiddle</i> than other folk, had ever since +shunned all intercourse with Dr. Rochecliffe which she could easily avoid. +</p> + +<p> +Master Tomkins was always coming and going about the house under various +pretexts; but he was a roundhead, and she was too true to the cavaliers to +introduce any of the enemy as parties to their internal discords; besides, he +had talked to Phœbe herself in a manner which induced her to decline +everything in the shape of familiarity with him. Lastly, Cavaliero Wildrake +might have been consulted; but Phœbe had her own reasons for saying, as she +did with some emphasis, that Cavaliero Wildrake was an impudent London rake. At +length she resolved to communicate her suspicions to the party having most +interest in verifying or confuting them. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll let Master Markham Everard know, that there is a wasp buzzing +about his honey-comb,” said Phœbe; “and, moreover, that I know +that this young Scotch Scapegrace shifted himself out of a woman’s into a +man’s dress at Goody Green’s, and gave Goody Green’s Dolly a +gold-piece to say nothing about it; and no more she did to any one but me, and +she knows best herself whether she gave change for the gold or not—but +Master Louis is a saucy jackanapes, and like enough to ask it.” +</p> + +<p> +Three or four days elapsed while matters continued in this condition—the +disguised Prince sometimes thinking on the intrigue which Fortune seemed to +have thrown in his way for his amusement, and taking advantage of such +opportunities as occurred to increase his intimacy with Alice Lee; but much +oftener harassing Dr. Rochecliffe with questions about the possibility of +escape, which the good man finding himself unable to answer, secured his +leisure against royal importunity, by retreating into the various unexplored +recesses of the Lodge, known perhaps only to himself, who had been for nearly a +score of years employed in writing the Wonders of Woodstock. +</p> + +<p> +It chanced on the fourth day, that some trifling circumstance had called the +knight abroad; and he had left the young Scotsman, now familiar in the family, +along with Alice, in the parlour of Victor Lee. Thus situated, he thought the +time not unpropitious for entering upon a strain of gallantry, of a kind which +might be called experimental, such as is practised by the Croats in +skirmishing, when they keep bridle in hand, ready to attack the enemy, or +canter off without coming to close quarters, as circumstances may recommend. +After using for nearly ten minutes a sort of metaphysical jargon, which might, +according to Alice’s pleasure, have been interpreted either into +gallantry, or the language of serious pretension, and when he supposed her +engaged in fathoming his meaning, he had the mortification to find, by a single +and brief question, that he had been totally unattended to, and that Alice was +thinking on anything at the moment rather than the sense of what he had been +saying. She asked him if he could tell what it was o’clock, and this with +an air of real curiosity concerning the lapse of time, which put coquetry +wholly out of the question. +</p> + +<p> +“I will go look at the sundial, Mistress Alice,” said the gallant, +rising and colouring, through a sense of the contempt with which he thought +himself treated. +</p> + +<p> +“You will do me a pleasure, Master Kerneguy,” said Alice, without +the least consciousness of the indignation she had excited. +</p> + +<p> +Master Louis Kerneguy left the room accordingly, not, however, to procure the +information required, but to vent his anger and mortification, and to swear, +with more serious purpose than he had dared to do before, that Alice should rue +her insolence. Good-natured as he was, he was still a prince, unaccustomed to +contradiction, far less to contempt, and his self pride felt, for the moment, +wounded to the quick. With a hasty step he plunged into the Chase, only +remembering his own safety so far as to choose the deeper and sequestered +avenues, where, walking on with the speedy and active step, which his recovery +from fatigue now permitted him to exercise according to his wont, he solaced +his angry purposes, by devising schemes of revenge on the insolent country +coquette, from which no consideration of hospitality was in future to have +weight enough to save her. +</p> + +<p> +The irritated gallant passed +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The dial-stone, aged and green,” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +without deigning to ask it a single question; nor could it have satisfied his +curiosity if he had, for no sun happened to shine at the moment. He then +hastened forward, muffling himself in his cloak, and assuming a stooping and +slouching gait, which diminished his apparent height. He was soon involved in +the deep and dim alleys of the wood, into which he had insensibly plunged +himself, and was traversing it at a great rate, without having any distinct +idea in what direction he was going, when suddenly his course was arrested, +first by a loud hello, and then by a summons to stand, accompanied by what +seemed still more startling and extraordinary, the touch of a cane upon his +shoulder, imposed in a good-humoured but somewhat imperious manner. +</p> + +<p> +There were few symptoms of recognition which would have been welcome at this +moment; but the appearance of the person who had thus arrested his course, was +least of all that he could have anticipated as timely or agreeable. When he +turned, on receiving the signal, he beheld himself close to a young man, nearly +six feet in height, well made in joint and limb, but the gravity of whose +apparel, although handsome and gentlemanlike, and a sort of precision in his +habit, from the cleanness and stiffness of his band to the unsullied purity of +his Spanish-leather shoes, bespoke a love of order which was foreign to the +impoverished and vanquished cavaliers, and proper to the habits of those of the +victorious party, who could afford to dress themselves handsomely; and whose +rule—that is, such as regarded the higher and more respectable +classes—enjoined decency and sobriety of garb and deportment. There was +yet another weight against the Prince in the scale, and one still more +characteristic of the inequality in the comparison, under which he seemed to +labour. There was strength in the muscular form of the stranger who had brought +him to this involuntary parley, authority and determination in his brow, a long +rapier on the left, and a poniard or dagger on the right side of his belt, and +a pair of pistols stuck into it, which would have been sufficient to give the +unknown the advantage, (Louis Kerneguy having no weapon but his sword,) even +had his personal strength approached nearer than it did to that of the person +by whom he was thus suddenly stopped. +</p> + +<p> +Bitterly regretting the thoughtless fit of passion that brought him into his +present situation, but especially the want of the pistols he had left behind, +and which do so much to place bodily strength and weakness upon an equal +footing, Charles yet availed himself of the courage and presence of mind, in +which few of his unfortunate family had for centuries been deficient. He stood +firm and without motion, his cloak still wrapped round the lower part of his +face, to give time for explanation, in case he was mistaken for some other +person. +</p> + +<p> +This coolness produced its effect; for the other party said,—with doubt +and surprise on his part, “Joceline Joliffe, is it not?—if I know +not Joceline Joliffe, I should at least know my own cloak.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not Joceline Joliffe, as you may see, sir,” said Kerneguy, +calmly, drawing himself erect to show the difference of size, and dropping the +cloak from his face and person. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” replied the stranger, in surprise; “then, Sir +Unknown, I have to express my regret at having used my cane in intimating that +I wished you to stop. From that dress, which I certainly recognise for my own, +I concluded you must be Joceline, in whose custody I had left my habit at the +Lodge.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it had been Joceline, sir,” replied the supposed Kerneguy, with +perfect composure, “methinks you should not have struck so hard.” +The other party was obviously confused by the steady calmness with which he was +encountered. The sense of politeness dictated, in the first place, an apology +for a mistake, when he thought he had been tolerably certain of the person. +Master Kerneguy was not in a situation to be punctilious; he bowed gravely, as +indicating his acceptance of the excuse offered, then turned, and walked, as he +conceived, towards the Lodge; though he had traversed the woods which were cut +with various alleys in different directions, too hastily to be certain of the +real course which he wished to pursue. +</p> + +<p> +He was much embarrassed to find that this did not get him rid of the companion +whom he had thus involuntarily acquired. Walked he slow, walked he fast, his +friend in the genteel but puritanic habit, strong in person, and well armed, as +we have described him, seemed determined to keep him company, and, without +attempting to join, or enter into conversation, never suffered him to outstrip +his surveillance for more than two or three yards. The Wanderer mended his +pace; but, although he was then, in his youth, as afterwards in his riper age, +one of the best walkers in Britain, the stranger, without advancing his pace to +a run, kept fully equal to him, and his persecution became so close and +constant, and inevitable, that the pride and fear of Charles were both alarmed, +and he began to think that, whatever the danger might be of a single-handed +rencontre, he would nevertheless have a better bargain of this tall satellite +if they settled the debate betwixt them in the forest, than if they drew near +any place of habitation, where the man in authority was likely to find friends +and concurrents. +</p> + +<p> +Betwixt anxiety, therefore, vexation, and anger, Charles faced suddenly round +on his pursuer, as they reached a small narrow glade, which led to the little +meadow over which presided the King’s Oak, the ragged and scathed +branches and gigantic trunk of which formed a vista to the little wild avenue. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said he to his pursuer, “you have already been guilty +of one piece of impertinence towards me. You have apologised; and knowing no +reason why you should distinguish me as an object of incivility, I have +accepted your excuse without scruple. Is there any thing remains to be settled +betwixt us, which causes you to follow me in this manner? If so, I shall be +glad to make it a subject of explanation or satisfaction, as the case may admit +of. I think you can owe me no malice; for I never saw you before to my +knowledge. If you can give any good reason for asking it, I am willing to +render you personal satisfaction. If your purpose is merely impertinent +curiosity, I let you know that I will not suffer myself to be dogged in my +private walks by any one.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I recognise my own cloak on another man’s shoulders,” +replied the stranger, dryly, “methinks I have a natural right to follow +and see what becomes of it; for know, sir, though I have been mistaken as to +the wearer, yet I am confident I had as good a right to stretch my cane across +the cloak you are muffled in, as ever had any one to brush his own garments. +If, therefore, we are to be friends, I must ask, for instance, how you came by +that cloak, and where you are going with it? I shall otherwise make bold to +stop you, as one who has sufficient commission to do so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, unhappy cloak,” thought the Wanderer, “ay, and thrice +unhappy the idle fancy that sent me here with it wrapped around my nose, to +pick quarrels and attract observation, when quiet and secrecy were peculiarly +essential to my safety!” +</p> + +<p> +“If you will allow me to guess, sir,” continued the stranger, who +was no other than Markham Everard, “I will convince you that you are +better known than you think for.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Heaven forbid!” prayed the party addressed, in silence, but +with as much devotion as ever he applied to a prayer in his life. Yet even in +this moment of extreme urgency, his courage and composure did not fail; and he +recollected it was of the utmost importance not to seem startled, and to answer +so as, if possible, to lead the dangerous companion with whom he had met, to +confess the extent of his actual knowledge or suspicions concerning him. +</p> + +<p> +“If you know me, sir,” he said, “and are a gentleman, as your +appearance promises, you cannot be at a loss to discover to what accident you +must attribute my wearing these clothes, which you say are yours.” +“Oh, sir,” replied Colonel Everard, his wrath in no sort turned +away by the mildness of the stranger’s answer—“we have +learned our Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and we know for what purposes young men +of quality travel in disguise—we know that even female attire is resorted +to on certain occasions—We have heard of Vertumnus and Pomona.” +</p> + +<p> +The Monarch, as he weighed these words, again uttered a devout prayer, that +this ill-looking affair might have no deeper root than the jealousy of some +admirer of Alice Lee, promising to himself, that, devotee as he was to the fair +sex, he would make no scruple of renouncing the fairest of Eve’s +daughters in order to get out of the present dilemma. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” he said, “you seem to be a gentleman. I have no +objection to tell you, as such, that I also am of that class.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or somewhat higher, perhaps?” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“A gentleman,” replied Charles, “is a term which comprehends +all ranks entitled to armorial bearings—A duke, a lord, a prince, is no +more than a gentleman; and if in misfortune as I am, he may be glad if that +general term of courtesy is allowed him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” replied Everard, “I have no purpose to entrap you to +any acknowledgment fatal to your own safety,—nor do I hold it my business +to be active in the arrest of private individuals, whose perverted sense of +national duty may have led them into errors, rather to be pitied than punished +by candid men. But if those who have brought civil war and disturbance into +their native country, proceed to carry dishonour and disgrace into the bosom of +families—if they attempt to carry on their private debaucheries to the +injury of the hospitable roofs which afford them refuge from the consequences +of their public crimes, do you think, my lord, that we shall bear it with +patience?” +</p> + +<p> +“If it is your purpose to quarrel with me,” said the Prince, +“speak it out at once like a gentleman. You have the advantage, no doubt, +of arms; but it is not that odds which will induce me to fly from a single man. +If, on the other hand, you are disposed to hear reason, I tell you in calm +words, that I neither suspect the offence to which you allude, nor comprehend +why you give me the title of my Lord.” +</p> + +<p> +“You deny, then, being the Lord Wilmot?” said Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“I may do so most safely,” said the Prince. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you rather style yourself Earl of Rochester? We heard that the +issuing of some such patent by the King of Scots was a step which your ambition +proposed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Neither lord nor earl am I, as sure as I have a Christian soul to be +saved. My name is”— +</p> + +<p> +“Do not degrade yourself by unnecessary falsehood, my lord; and that to a +single man, who, I promise you, will not invoke public justice to assist his +own good sword should he see cause to use it. Can you look at that ring, and +deny that you are Lord Wilmot?” +</p> + +<p> +He handed to the disguised Prince a ring which he took from his purse, and his +opponent instantly knew it for the same he had dropped into Alice’s +pitcher at the fountain, obeying only, through imprudently, the gallantry of +the moment, in giving a pretty gem to a handsome girl, whom he had accidentally +frightened. +</p> + +<p> +“I know the ring,” he said; “it has been in my possession. +How it should prove me to be Lord Wilmot, I cannot conceive; and beg to say, it +bears false witness against me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall see the evidence,” answered Everard; and, resuming the +ring, he pressed a spring ingeniously contrived in the collet of the setting, +on which the stone flew back, and showed within it the cipher of Lord Wilmot +beautifully engraved in miniature, with a coronet.—“What say you +now, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“That probabilities are no proofs,” said the Prince; “there +is nothing here save what may be easily accounted for. I am the son of a +Scottish nobleman, who was mortally wounded and made prisoner at Worcester +fight. When he took leave, and bid me fly, he gave me the few valuables he +possessed, and that among others. I have heard him talk of having changed rings +with Lord Wilmot, on some occasion in Scotland, but I never knew the trick of +the gem which you have shown me.” +</p> + +<p> +In this it may be necessary to say, Charles spoke very truly; nor would he have +parted with it in the way he did, had he suspected it would be easily +recognised. He proceeded after a minute’s pause:—“Once more, +sir—I have told you much that concerns my safety—if you are +generous, you will let me pass, and I may do you on some future day as good +service. If you mean to arrest me, you must do so here, and at your own peril, +for I will neither walk farther your way, nor permit you to dog me on mine. If +you let me pass, I will thank you: if not, take to your weapon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young gentleman,” said Colonel Everard, “whether you be +actually the gay young nobleman for whom I took you, you have made me +uncertain; but, intimate as you say your family has been with him, I have +little doubt that you are proficient in the school of debauchery, of which +Wilmot and Villiers are professors, and their hopeful Master a graduated +student. Your conduct at Woodstock, where you have rewarded the hospitality of +the family by meditating the most deadly wound to their honour, has proved you +too apt a scholar in such an academy. I intended only to warn you on this +subject—it will be your own fault if I add chastisement to +admonition.” +</p> + +<p> +“Warn me, sir!” said the Prince indignantly, “and +chastisement! This is presuming more on my patience than is consistent with +your own safety— Draw, sir.”—So saying, he laid his hand on +his sword. +</p> + +<p> +“My religion,” said Everard, “forbids me to be rash in +shedding blood—Go home, sir—be wise—consult the dictates of +honour as well as prudence. Respect the honour of the House of Lee, and know +there is one nearly allied to it, by whom your motions will be called to severe +account.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aha!” said the Prince, with a bitter laugh, “I see the whole +matter now—we have our roundheaded Colonel, our puritan cousin before +us—the man of texts and morals, whom Alice Lee laughs at so heartily. If +your religion, sir, prevents you from giving satisfaction, it should prevent +you from offering insult to a person of honour.” +</p> + +<p> +The passions of both were now fully up—they drew mutually, and began to +fight, the Colonel relinquishing the advantage he could have obtained by the +use of his fire-arms. A thrust of the arm, or a slip of the foot, might, at the +moment, have changed the destinies of Britain, when the arrival of a third +party broke off the combat. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Stay—for the King has thrown his warder down. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +R<small>ICHARD</small> II. +</p> + +<p> +The combatants, whom we left engaged at the end of the last chapter, made +mutual passes at each other with apparently equal skill and courage. Charles +had been too often in action, and too long a party as well as a victim to civil +war, to find any thing new or surprising in being obliged to defend himself +with his own hands; and Everard had been distinguished, as well for his +personal bravery, as for the other properties of a commander. But the arrival +of a third party prevented the tragic conclusion of a combat, in which the +success of either party must have given him much cause for regretting his +victory. +</p> + +<p> +It was the old knight himself, who arrived, mounted upon a forest pony, for the +war and sequestration had left him no steed of a more dignified description. He +thrust himself between the combatants, and commanded them on their lives to +hold. So soon as a glance from one to the other had ascertained to him whom he +had to deal with, he demanded, “Whether the devils of Woodstock, whom +folk talked about, had got possession of them both, that they were tilting at +each other within the verge of the royal liberties? Let me tell both of +you,” he said, “that while old Henry Lee is at Woodstock, the +immunities of the Park shall be maintained as much as if the King were still on +the throne. None shall fight duellos here, excepting the stags in their season. +Put up, both of you, or I shall lug out as thirdsman, and prove perhaps the +worst devil of the three!—As Will says— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘I’ll so maul you and your toasting-irons,<br/> +That you shall think the devil has come from hell.’” +</p> + +<p> +The combatants desisted from their encounter, but stood looking at each other +sullenly, as men do in such a situation, each unwilling to seem to desire peace +more than the other, and averse therefore to be the first to sheathe his sword. +</p> + +<p> +“Return your weapons, gentlemen, upon the spot,” said the knight +yet more peremptorily, “one and both of you, or you will have something +to do with me, I promise you. You may be thankful times are changed. I have +known them such, that your insolence might have cost each of you your right +hand, if not redeemed with a round sum of money. Nephew, if you do not mean to +alienate me for ever, I command you to put up.—Master Kerneguy, you are +my guest. I request of you not to do me the insult of remaining with your sword +drawn, where it is my duty to see peace observed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I obey you, Sir Henry,” said the King, sheathing his +rapier—“I hardly indeed know wherefore I was assaulted by this +gentleman. I assure you, none respects the King’s person or privileges +more than myself—though the devotion is somewhat out of fashion.” +</p> + +<p> +“We may find a place to meet, sir,” replied Everard, “where +neither the royal person nor privileges can be offended.” +</p> + +<p> +“Faith, very hardly, sir,” said Charles, unable to suppress the +rising jest—“I mean, the King has so few followers, that the loss +of the least of them might be some small damage to him; but, risking all that, +I will meet you wherever there is fair field for a poor cavalier to get off in +safety, if he has the luck in fight.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry Lee’s first idea had been fixed upon the insult offered to the +royal demesne; he now began to turn them towards the safety of his kinsman, and +of the young royalist, as he deemed him. “Gentlemen,” he said, +“I must insist on this business being put to a final end. Nephew Markham, +is this your return for my condescension in coming back to Woodstock on your +warrant, that you should take an opportunity to cut the throat of my +guest?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you knew his purpose as well as I do,”—said Markham, and +then paused, conscious that he might only incense his uncle without convincing +him, as any thing he might say of Kerneguy’s addresses to Alice was +likely to be imputed to his own jealous suspicions—he looked on the +ground, therefore, and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“And you, Master Kerneguy,” said Sir Henry, “can you give me +any reason why you seek to take the life of this young man, in whom, though +unhappily forgetful of his loyalty and duty, I must yet take some interest, as +my nephew by affinity?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was not aware the gentleman enjoyed that honour, which certainly would +have protected him from my sword,” answered Kerneguy. “But the +quarrel is his; nor can I tell any reason why he fixed it upon me, unless it +were the difference of our political opinions.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know the contrary,” said Everard; “you know that I told +you you were safe from me as a fugitive royalist—and your last words +showed you were at no loss to guess my connexion with Sir Henry. That, indeed, +is of little consequence. I should debase myself did I use the relationship as +a means of protection from you, or any one.” +</p> + +<p> +As they thus disputed, neither choosing to approach the real cause of quarrel, +Sir Henry looked from one to the other, with a peace-making conscience, +exclaiming— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘Why, what an intricate impeach is this?<br/> +I think you both have drunk of Circe’s cup.’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Come, my young masters, allow an old man to mediate between you. I am +not shortsighted in such matters—The mother of mischief is no bigger than +a gnat’s wing; and I have known fifty instances in my own day, when, as +Will says— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Gallants have been confronted hardily,<br/> +In single opposition, hand to hand.’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +in which, after the field was fought, no one could remember the cause of +quarrel.—Tush! a small thing will do it—the taking of the +wall—or the gentle rub of the shoulder in passing each other, or a hasty +word, or a misconceived gesture—Come, forget your cause of quarrel, be +what it will—you have had your breathing, and though you put up your +rapiers unbloodied, that was no default of yours, but by command of your elder, +and one who had right to use authority. In Malta, where the duello is +punctiliously well understood, the persons engaged in a single combat are bound +to halt on the command of a knight, or priest, or lady, and the quarrel so +interrupted is held as honourably terminated, and may not be +revived.—Nephew, it is, I think, impossible that you can nourish spleen +against this young gentleman for having fought for his king. Hear my honest +proposal, Markham—You know I bear no malice, though I have some reason to +be offended with you—Give the young man your hand in friendship, and we +will back to the Lodge, all three together, and drink a cup of sack in token of +reconciliation.” +</p> + +<p> +Markham Everard found himself unable to resist this approach towards kindness +on his uncle’s part. He suspected, indeed, what was partly the truth, +that it was not entirely from reviving good-will, but also, that his uncle +thought, by such attention, to secure his neutrality at least, if not his +assistance, for the safety of the fugitive royalist. He was sensible that he +was placed in an awkward predicament; and that he might incur the suspicions of +his own party, for holding intercourse even with a near relation, who harboured +such guests. But, on the other hand, he thought his services to the +Commonwealth had been of sufficient importance to outweigh whatever envy might +urge on that topic. Indeed, although the Civil War had divided families much, +and in many various ways, yet when it seemed ended by the triumph of the +republicans, the rage of political hatred began to relent, and the ancient ties +of kindred and friendship regained at least a part of their former influence. +Many reunions were formed; and those who, like Everard, adhered to the +conquering party, often exerted themselves for the protection of their deserted +relatives. +</p> + +<p> +As these things rushed through his mind, accompanied with the prospect of a +renewed intercourse with Alice Lee, by means of which he might be at hand to +protect her against every chance, either of injury or insult, he held out his +hand to the supposed Scottish page, saying at the same time, “That, for +his part, he was very ready to forget the cause of quarrel, or rather, to +consider it as arising out of a misapprehension, and to offer Master Kerneguy +such friendship as might exist between honourable men, who had embraced +different sides in politics.” +</p> + +<p> +Unable to overcome the feeling of personal dignity, which prudence recommended +him to forget, Louis Kerneguy in return bowed low, but without accepting +Everard’s proffered hand. +</p> + +<p> +“He had no occasion,” he said, “to make any exertions to +forget the cause of quarrel, for he had never been able to comprehend it; but +as he had not shunned the gentleman’s resentment, so he was now willing +to embrace and return any degree of his favour, with which he might be pleased +to honour him.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard withdrew his hand with a smile, and bowed in return to the salutation +of the page, whose stiff reception of his advances he imputed to the proud +pettish disposition of a Scotch boy, trained up in extravagant ideas of family +consequence and personal importance, which his acquaintance with the world had +not yet been sufficient to dispel. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry Lee, delighted with the termination of the quarrel, which he supposed +to be in deep deference to his own authority, and not displeased with the +opportunity of renewing some acquaintance with his nephew, who had, +notwithstanding his political demerits, a warmer interest in his affections +than he was, perhaps, himself aware of, said, in a tone of consolation, +“Never be mortified, young gentlemen. I protest it went to my heart to +part you, when I saw you stretching yourselves so handsomely, and in fair love +of honour, without any malicious or blood-thirsty thoughts. I promise you, had +it not been for my duty as Ranger here, and sworn to the office, I would rather +have been your umpire than your hinderance.—But a finished quarrel is a +forgotten quarrel; and your tilting should have no further consequence +excepting the appetite it may have given you.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he urged forward his pony, and moved in triumph towards the Lodge by +the nearest alley. His feet almost touching the ground, the ball of his toe +just resting in the stirrup,—the forepart of the thigh brought round to +the saddle,—the heels turned outwards, and sunk as much as +possible,—his body precisely erect,—the reins properly and +systematically divided in his left hand, his right holding a riding-rod +diagonally pointed towards the horse’s left ear,—he seemed a +champion of the manege, fit to have reined Bucephalus himself. His youthful +companions, who attended on either hand like equerries, could scarcely suppress +a smile at the completely adjusted and systematic posture of the rider, +contrasted with the wild and diminutive appearance of the pony, with its shaggy +coat, and long tail and mane, and its keen eyes sparkling like red coals from +amongst the mass of hair which fell over its small countenance. If the reader +has the Duke of Newcastle’s book on horsemanship, (<i>splendida +moles!</i>) he may have some idea of the figure of the good knight, if he can +conceive such a figure as one of the cavaliers there represented, seated, in +all the graces of his art, on a Welsh or Exmoor pony, in its native savage +state, without grooming or discipline of any kind; the ridicule being greatly +enhanced by the disproportion of size betwixt the animal and its rider. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the knight saw their wonder, for the first words he said after they +left the ground were, “Pixie, though small, is mettlesome, +gentlemen,” (here he contrived that Pixie should himself corroborate the +assertion, by executing a gambade,)—“he is diminutive, but full of +spirit;—indeed, save that I am somewhat too large for an elfin +horseman,” (the knight was upwards of six feet high,) “I should +remind myself, when I mount him, of the Fairy King, as described by Mike +Drayton:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Himself he on an earwig set,<br/> +Yet scarce upon his back could get,<br/> +So oft and high he did curvet,<br/> + Ere he himself did settle.<br/> +He made him stop, and turn, and bound,<br/> +To gallop, and to trot the round.<br/> +He scarce could stand on any ground,<br/> + He was so full of mettle.’” +</p> + +<p> +“My old friend, Pixie,” said Everard, stroking the pony’s +neck, “I am glad that he has survived all these bustling days—Pixie +must be above twenty years old, Sir Henry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Above twenty years, certainly. Yes, nephew Markham, war is a whirlwind +in a plantation, which only spares what is least worth leaving. Old Pixie and +his old master have survived many a tall fellow, and many a great +horse—neither of them good for much themselves. Yet, as Will says, an old +man can do somewhat. So Pixie and I still survive.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he again contrived that Pixie should show some remnants of activity. +</p> + +<p> +“Still survive?” said the young Scot, completing the sentence which +the good knight had left unfinished—“ay, still survive, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘To witch the world with noble horsemanship.’” +</p> + +<p> +Everard coloured, for he felt the irony; but not so his uncle, whose simple +vanity never permitted him to doubt the sincerity of the compliment. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you advised of that?” he said. “In King James’s +time, indeed, I have appeared in the tilt-yard, and there you might have +said— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘You saw young Harry with his beaver up.’ +</p> + +<p> +“As to seeing <i>old</i> Harry, why”—Here the knight paused, +and looked as a bashful man in labour of a pun—“As to old +Harry—why, you might as well see the <i>devil</i>. You take me, Master +Kerneguy—the devil, you know, is my +namesake—ha—ha—ha!—Cousin Everard, I hope your +precision is not startled by an innocent jest?” +</p> + +<p> +He was so delighted with the applause of both his companions, that he recited +the whole of the celebrated passage referred to, and concluded with defying the +present age, bundle all its wits, Donne, Cowley, Waller, and the rest of them +together, to produce a poet of a tenth part of the genius of old Will. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, we are said to have one of his descendants among us—Sir +William D’Avenant,” said Louis Kerneguy; “and many think him +as clever a fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” exclaimed Sir Henry—“Will D’Avenant, whom +I knew in the North, an officer under Newcastle, when the Marquis lay before +Hull?—why, he was an honest cavalier, and wrote good doggrel enough; but +how came he a-kin to Will Shakspeare, I trow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” replied the young Scot, “by the surer side of the +house, and after the old fashion, if D’Avenant speaks truth. It seems +that his mother was a good-looking, laughing, buxom mistress of an inn between +Stratford and London, at which Will Shakspeare often quartered as he went down +to his native town; and that out of friendship and gossipred, as we say in +Scotland, Will Shakspeare became godfather to Will D’Avenant; and not +contented with this spiritual affinity, the younger Will is for establishing +some claim to a natural one, alleging that his mother was a great admirer of +wit, and there were no bounds to her complaisance for men of genius.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out upon the hound!” said Colonel Everard; “would he +purchase the reputation of descending from poet, or from prince, at the expense +of his mother’s good fame?—his nose ought to be slit.” +</p> + +<p> +“That would be difficult,” answered the disguised Prince, +recollecting the peculiarity of the bard’s countenance.<a href="#fn25.1" name="fnref25.1" id="fnref25.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn25.1" id="fn25.1"></a> <a href="#fnref25.1">[1]</a> +D’Avenant actually wanted the nose, the foundation of many a jest of the +day. +</p> + +<p> +“Will D’Avenant the son of Will Shakspeare?” said the knight, +who had not yet recovered his surprise at the enormity of the pretension; +“why, it reminds me of a verse in the Puppet-show of Phaeton, where the +hero complains to his mother— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Besides, by all the village boys I am sham’d,<br/> +You the Sun’s son, you rascal, you be d—d!’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“I never heard such unblushing assurance in my life!—Will +D’Avenant the son of the brightest and best poet that ever was, is, or +will be?—But I crave your pardon, nephew—You, I believe, love no +stage plays.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I am not altogether so precise as you would make me, uncle. I have +loved them perhaps too well in my time, and now I condemn them not altogether, +or in gross, though I approve not their excesses and extravagances.—I +cannot, even in Shakspeare, but see many things both scandalous to decency and +prejudicial to good manners—many things which tend to ridicule virtue, or +to recommend vice,—at least to mitigate the hideousness of its features. +I cannot think these fine poems are an useful study, and especially for the +youth of either sex, in which bloodshed is pointed out as the chief occupation +of the men, and intrigue as the sole employment of the women.” +</p> + +<p> +In making these observations, Everard was simple enough to think that he was +only giving his uncle an opportunity of defending a favourite opinion, without +offending him by a contradiction, which was so limited and mitigated. But here, +as on other occasions, he forgot how obstinate his uncle was in his views, +whether of religion, policy, or taste, and that it would be as easy to convert +him to the Presbyterian form of government, or engage him to take the +abjuration oath, as to shake his belief in Shakspeare. There was another +peculiarity in the good knight’s mode of arguing, which Everard, being +himself of a plain and downright character, and one whose religious tenets were +in some degree unfavourable to the suppressions and simulations often used in +society, could never perfectly understand. Sir Henry, sensible of his natural +heat of temper, was wont scrupulously to guard against it, and would for some +time, when in fact much offended, conduct a debate with all the external +appearance of composure, till the violence of his feelings would rise so high +as to overcome and bear away the artificial barriers opposed to it, and rush +down upon the adversary with accumulating wrath. It thus frequently happened, +that, like a wily old general, he retreated in the face of his disputant in +good order and by degrees, with so moderate a degree of resistance, as to draw +on his antagonist’s pursuit to the spot, where, at length, making a +sudden and unexpected attack, with horse, foot, and artillery at once, he +seldom failed to confound the enemy, though he might not overthrow him. +</p> + +<p> +It was on this principle, therefore, that, hearing Everard’s last +observation, he disguised his angry feelings, and answered, with a tone where +politeness was called in to keep guard upon passion, “That undoubtedly +the Presbyterian gentry had given, through the whole of these unhappy times, +such proofs of an humble, unaspiring, and unambitious desire of the public +good, as entitled them to general credit for the sincerity of those very strong +scruples which they entertained against works, in which the noblest, sentiments +of religion and virtue,—sentiments which might convert hardened sinners, +and be placed with propriety in the mouths of dying saints and martyrs,— +happened, from the rudeness and coarse taste of the times, to be mixed with +some broad jests, and similar matter, which lay not much in the way, excepting +of those who painfully sought such stuff out, that they might use it in +vilifying what was in itself deserving of the highest applause. But what he +wished especially to know from his nephew was, whether any of those gifted men, +who had expelled the learned scholars and deep divines of the Church of England +from the pulpit, and now flourished in their stead, received any inspiration +from the muses, (if he might use so profane a term without offence to Colonel +Everard,) or whether they were not as sottishly and brutally averse from +elegant letters, as they were from humanity and common sense?” +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Everard might have guessed, by the ironical tone in which this speech +was delivered, what storm was mustering within his uncle’s +bosom—nay, he might have conjectured the state of the old knight’s +feelings from his emphasis on the word Colonel, by which epithet, as that which +most connected his nephew with the party he hated, he never distinguished +Everard, unless when his wrath was rising; while, on the contrary, when +disposed to be on good terms with him, he usually called him Kinsman, or Nephew +Markham. Indeed, it was under a partial sense that this was the case, and in +the hope to see his cousin Alice, that the Colonel forbore making any answer to +the harangue of his uncle, which had concluded just as the old knight had +alighted at the door of the Lodge, and was entering the hall, followed by his +two attendants. +</p> + +<p> +Phœbe at the same time made her appearance in the hall, and received orders to +bring some “beverage” for the gentlemen. The Hebe of Woodstock +failed not to recognise and welcome Everard by an almost imperceptible curtsy; +but she did not serve her interest, as she designed, when she asked the knight, +as a question of course, whether he commanded the attendance of Mistress Alice. +A stern <i>No</i>, was the decided reply; and the ill-timed interference seemed +to increase his previous irritation against Everard for his depreciation of +Shakspeare. “I would insist,” said Sir Henry, resuming the +obnoxious subject, “were it fit for a poor disbanded cavalier to use such +a phrase towards a commander of the conquering army,—upon, knowing +whether the convulsion which has sent us saints and prophets without end, has +not also afforded us a poet with enough both of gifts and grace to outshine +poor old Will, the oracle and idol of us blinded and carnal cavaliers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, sir,” replied Colonel Everard; “I know verses +written by a friend of the Commonwealth, and those, too, of a dramatic +character, which, weighed in an impartial scale, might equal even the poetry of +Shakspeare, and which are free from the fustian and indelicacy with which that +great bard was sometimes content to feed the coarse appetites of his barbarous +audience.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said the knight, keeping down his wrath with difficulty. +“I should like to be acquainted with this master-piece of +poetry!—May we ask the name of this distinguished person?” +</p> + +<p> +“It must be Vicars, or Withers, at least,” said the feigned page. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” replied Everard, “nor Drummond of Hawthornden, nor +Lord Stirling neither. And yet the verses will vindicate what I say, if you +will make allowance for indifferent recitation, for I am better accustomed to +speak to a battalion than to those who love the muses. The speaker is a lady +benighted, who, having lost her way in a pathless forest, at first expresses +herself agitated by the supernatural fears to which her situation gave +rise.” +</p> + +<p> +“A play, too, and written by a roundhead author!” said Sir Henry in +surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“A dramatic production at least,” replied his nephew; and began to +recite simply, but with feeling, the lines now so well known, but which had +then obtained no celebrity, the fame of the author resting upon the basis +rather of his polemical and political publications, than on the poetry doomed +in after days to support the eternal structure of his immortality. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘These thoughts may startle, but will not, astound<br/> +The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended<br/> +By a strong-siding champion, Conscience.’” +</p> + +<p> +“My own opinion, nephew Markham, my own opinion,” said Sir Henry, +with a burst of admiration; “better expressed, but just what I said when +the scoundrelly roundheads pretended to see ghosts at Woodstock—Go on, I +prithee.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard proceeded:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“‘O welcome pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope,<br/> +Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings,<br/> +And thou unblemish’d form of Chastity!<br/> +I see ye visibly, and now believe<br/> +That he the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill<br/> +Are but as slavish officers of vengeance,<br/> +Would send a glistering guardian, if need were,<br/> +To keep my life and honour unassail’d.—<br/> +Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud.<br/> +Turn forth her silver lining on the night?’” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“The rest has escaped me,” said the reciter; “and I marvel I +have been able to remember so much.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry Lee, who had expected some effusion very different from those +classical and beautiful lines, soon changed the scornful expression of his +countenance, relaxed his contorted upper lip, and, stroking down his beard with +his left hand, rested the forefinger of the right upon his eyebrow, in sign of +profound attention. After Everard had ceased speaking, the old man signed as at +the end of a strain of sweet music. He then spoke in a gentler manner than +formerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Cousin Markham,” he said, “these verses flow sweetly, and +sound in my ears like the well-touched warbling of a lute. But thou knowest I +am somewhat slow of apprehending the full meaning of that which I hear for the +first time. Repeat me these verses again, slowly and deliberately; for I always +love to hear poetry twice, the first time for sound, and the latter time for +sense.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus encouraged, Everard recited again the lines with more hardihood and better +effect; the knight distinctly understanding, and from his looks and motions, +highly applauding them. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” he broke out, when Everard was again +silent—“Yes, I do call that poetry—though it were even +written by a Presbyterian, or an Anabaptist either. Ay, there were good and +righteous people to be found even amongst the offending towns which were +destroyed by fire. And certainly I have heard, though with little credence +(begging your pardon, cousin. Everard,) that there are men among you who have +seen the error of their ways in rebelling against the best and kindest of +masters, and bringing it to that pass that he was murdered by a gang yet +fiercer than themselves. Ay, doubtless, the gentleness of spirit, and the +purity of mind, which dictated those beautiful lines, has long ago taught a man +so amiable to say, I have sinned, I have sinned. Yes, I doubt not so sweet a +harp has been broken, even in remorse, for the crimes he was witness to; and +now he sits drooping for the shame and sorrow of England,—all his noble +rhymes, as Will says, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh.’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Dost thou not think so, Master Kerneguy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not I, Sir Henry,” answered the page, somewhat maliciously. +</p> + +<p> +“What, dost not believe the author of these lines must needs be of the +better file, and leaning to our persuasion?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think, Sir Henry, that the poetry qualifies the author to write a play +on the subject of Dame Potiphar and her recusant lover; and as for his +calling—that last metaphor of the cloud in a black coat or cloak, with +silver lining, would have dubbed him a tailor with me, only that I happen to +know that he is a schoolmaster by profession, and by political opinions +qualified to be Poet Laureate to Cromwell; for what Colonel Everard has +repeated with such unction, is the production of no less celebrated a person +than John Milton.” +</p> + +<p> +“John Milton!” exclaimed Sir Henry in +astonishment—“What! John Milton, the blasphemous and bloody-minded +author of the <i>Defensio Populi Anglicani</i>!—the advocate of the +infernal High Court of Fiends; the creature and parasite of that grand +impostor, that loathsome hypocrite, that detestable monster, that prodigy of +the universe, that disgrace of mankind, that landscape of iniquity, that sink +of sin, and that compendium of baseness, Oliver Cromwell!” +</p> + +<p> +“Even the same John Milton,” answered Charles; “schoolmaster +to little boys, and tailor to the clouds, which he furnishes with suits of +black, lined with silver, at no other expense than that of common sense.” +</p> + +<p> +“Markham Everard,” said the old knight, “I will never forgive +thee— never, never. Thou hast made me speak words of praise respecting +one whose offal should fatten the region-kites. Speak not to me, sir, but +begone! Am I, your kinsman and benefactor, a fit person to be juggled out of my +commendation and eulogy, and brought to bedaub such a whitened sepulchre as the +sophist Milton?” +</p> + +<p> +“I profess,” said Everard, “this is hard measure, Sir Henry. +You pressed me—you defied me, to produce poetry as good as +Shakspeare’s. I only thought of the verses, not of the politics of +Milton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, sir,” replied Sir Henry; “we well know your power of +making distinctions; you could make war against the King’s prerogative, +without having the least design against his person. Oh Heaven forbid! But +Heaven will hear and judge you. Set down the beverage, +Phœbe”—(this was added by way of parenthesis to Phœbe, who +entered with refreshment)—“Colonel Everard is not thirsty—You +have wiped your mouths, and said you have done no evil. But though you have +deceived man, yet God you cannot deceive. And you shall wipe no lips in +Woodstock, either after meat or drink, I promise you.” +</p> + +<p> +Charged thus at once with the faults imputed to his whole religious sect and +political party, Everard felt too late of what imprudence he had been guilty in +giving the opening, by disputing his uncle’s taste in dramatic poetry. He +endeavoured to explain—to apologise. +</p> + +<p> +“I mistook your purpose, honoured sir, and thought you really desired to +know something of our literature; and in repeating what you deemed not unworthy +your hearing, I profess I thought I was doing you pleasure, instead of stirring +your indignation.” +</p> + +<p> +“O ay!” returned the knight, with unmitigated rigour of +resentment— “profess—profess—Ay, that is the new phrase +of asseveration, instead of the profane adjuration of courtiers and +cavaliers—Oh, sir, <i>profess</i> less and <i>practise</i> more—and +so good day to you. Master Kerneguy, you will find beverage in my +apartment.” +</p> + +<p> +While Phœbe stood gaping in admiration at the sudden quarrel which had arisen, +Colonel Everard’s vexation and resentment was not a little increased by +the nonchalance of the young Scotsman, who, with his hands thrust into his +pockets, (with a courtly affectation of the time,) had thrown himself into one +of the antique chairs, and, though habitually too polite to laugh aloud, and +possessing that art of internal laughter by which men of the world learn to +indulge their mirth without incurring quarrels, or giving direct offence, was +at no particular pains to conceal that he was exceedingly amused by the result +of the Colonel’s visit to Woodstock. Colonel Everard’s patience, +however, had reached bounds which it was very likely to surpass; for, though +differing widely in politics, there was a resemblance betwixt the temper of the +uncle and nephew. +</p> + +<p> +“Damnation” exclaimed the Colonel, in a tone which became a puritan +as little as did the exclamation itself. +</p> + +<p> +“Amen!” said Louis Kerneguy, but in a tone so soft and gentle, that +the ejaculation seemed rather to escape him than to be designedly uttered. +“Sir!” said Everard, striding towards him in that sort of humour, +when a man, full of resentment, would not unwillingly find an object on which +to discharge it. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Plait-il?</i>” said the page, in the most equable tone, looking +up in his face with the most unconscious innocence. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to know, sir,” retorted Everard, “the meaning of that +which you said just now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only a pouring out of the spirit, worthy sir,” returned +Kerneguy—“a small skiff dispatched to Heaven on my own account, to +keep company with your holy petition just now expressed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir, I have known a merry gentleman’s bones broke for such a smile +as you wear just now,” replied Everard. +</p> + +<p> +“There, look you now” answered the malicious page, who could not +weigh even the thoughts of his safety against the enjoyment of his +jest—“If you had stuck to your professions, worthy sir, you must +have choked by this time; but your round execration bolted like a cork from a +bottle of cider, and now allows your wrath to come foaming out after it, in the +honest unbaptized language of common ruffians.” +</p> + +<p> +“For Heaven’s sake, Master Girnegy,” said Phœbe, +“forbear giving the Colonel these bitter words! And do you, good Colonel +Markham, scorn to take offence at his hands—he is but a boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“If the Colonel or you choose, Mistress Phœbe, you shall find me a +man—I think the gentleman can say something to the purpose +already.— Probably he may recommend to you the part of the Lady in Comus; +and I only hope his own admiration of John Milton will not induce him to +undertake the part of Samson Agonistes, and blow up this old house with +execration, or pull it down in wrath about our ears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young man,” said the Colonel, still in towering passion, “if +you respect my principles for nothing else, be grateful to the protection +which, but for them, you would not easily attain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, then,” said the attendant, “I must fetch those who have +more influence with you than I have,” and away tripped Phœbe; while +Kerneguy answered Everard in the same provoking tone of calm +indifference,— “Before you menace me with a thing so formidable as +your resentment, you ought to be certain whether I may not be compelled by +circumstances to deny you the opportunity you seem to point at.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Alice, summoned no doubt by her attendant, entered the hall +hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“Master Kerneguy,” she said, “my father requests to see you +in Victor Lee’s apartment.” +</p> + +<p> +Kerneguy arose and bowed, but seemed determined to remain till Everard’s +departure, so as to prevent any explanation betwixt the cousins. +“Markham,” said Alice, hurriedly—“Cousin +Everard—I have but a moment to remain here—for God’s sake, do +you instantly begone!—be cautious and patient—but do not tarry +here—my father is fearfully incensed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have had my uncle’s word for that, madam,” replied +Everard, “as well as his injunction to depart, which I will obey without +delay. I was not aware that you would have seconded so harsh an order quite so +willingly; but I go, madam, sensible I leave those behind whose company is more +agreeable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unjust—ungenerous—ungrateful!” said Alice; but fearful +her words might reach ears for which they were not designed, she spoke them in +a voice so feeble, that her cousin, for whom they were intended, lost the +consolation they were calculated to convey. +</p> + +<p> +He bowed coldly to Alice, as taking leave, and said, with an air of that +constrained courtesy which sometimes covers, among men of condition, the most +deadly hatred, “I believe, Master Kerneguy, that I must make it +convenient at present to suppress my own peculiar opinions on the matter which +we have hinted at in our conversation, in which case I will send a gentleman, +who, I hope, may be able to conquer yours.” +</p> + +<p> +The supposed Scotsman made him a stately, and at the same time a condescending +bow, said he should expect the honour of his commands, offered his hand to +Mistress Alice, to conduct her back to her father’s apartment, and took a +triumphant leave of his rival. +</p> + +<p> +Everard, on the other hand, stung beyond his patience, and, from the grace and +composed assurance of the youth’s carriage, still conceiving him to be +either Wilmot, or some of his compeers in rank and profligacy, returned to the +town of Woodstock, determined not to be outbearded, even though he should seek +redress by means which his principles forbade him to consider as justifiable. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + Boundless intemperance<br/> +In nature is a tyranny—it hath been<br/> +The untimely emptying of many a throne,<br/> +And fall of many kings. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +M<small>ACBETH</small>. +</p> + +<p> +While Colonel Everard retreated in high indignation from the little refection, +which Sir Henry Lee had in his good-humour offered, and withdrawn under the +circumstances of provocation which we have detailed, the good old knight, +scarce recovered from his fit of passion, partook of it with his daughter and +guest, and shortly after, recollecting some silvan task, (for, though to little +efficient purpose, he still regularly attended to his duties as Ranger,) he +called Bevis, and went out, leaving the two young people together. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said the amorous Prince to himself, “that Alice is +left without her lion, it remains to see whether she is herself of a tigress +breed.— So, Sir Bevis has left his charge,” he said loud; “I +thought the knights of old, those stern guardians of which he is so fit a +representative, were more rigorous in maintaining a vigilant guard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bevis,” said Alice, “knows that his attendance on me is +totally needless; and, moreover, he has other duties to perform, which every +true knight prefers to dangling the whole morning by a lady’s +sleeve.” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak treason against all true affection,” said the gallant; +“a lady’s lightest wish should to a true knight be more binding +than aught excepting the summons of his sovereign. I wish, Mistress Alice, you +would but intimate your slightest desire to me, and you should see how I have +practised obedience.” +</p> + +<p> +“You never brought me word what o’clock it was this morning,” +replied the young lady, “and there I sate questioning of the wings of +Time, when I should have remembered that gentlemen’s gallantry can be +quite as fugitive as Time himself. How do you know what your disobedience may +have cost me and others? Pudding and pasty may have been burned to a cinder, +for, sir, I practise the old domestic rule of visiting the kitchen; or I may +have missed prayers, or I may have been too late for an appointment, simply by +the negligence of Master Louis Kerneguy failing to let me know the hour of the +day.” +</p> + +<p> +“O,” replied Kerneguy, “I am one of those lovers who cannot +endure absence—I must be eternally at the feet of my fair +enemy—such, I think, is the title with which romances teach us to grace +the fair and cruel to whom we devote our hearts and lives.—Speak for me, +good lute,” he added, taking up the instrument, “and show whether I +know not my duty.” +</p> + +<p> +He sung, but with more taste than execution, the air of a French rondelai, to +which some of the wits or sonnetteers, in his gay and roving train, had adapted +English verses. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +An hour with thee!—When earliest day<br/> +Dapples with gold the eastern grey,<br/> +Oh, what, can frame my mind to bear<br/> +The toil and turmoil, cark and care.<br/> +New griefs, which coming hours unfold,<br/> +And sad remembrance of the old?—<br/> + One hour with thee!<br/> +<br/> +One hour with thee!—When burning June<br/> +Waves his red flag at pitch of noon;<br/> +What shall repay the faithful swain,<br/> +His labour on the sultry plain,<br/> +And more than cave or sheltering bough,<br/> +Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow?—<br/> + One hour with thee!<br/> +<br/> +One hour with thee!—When sun is set,<br/> +O, what can teach me to forget<br/> +The thankless labours of the day;<br/> +The hopes, the wishes, flung away:<br/> +The increasing wants, and lessening gains,<br/> +The master’s pride, who scorns my pains?—<br/> + One hour with thee! +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, there is another verse,” said the songster; “but I +sing it not to you, Mistress Alice, because some of the prudes of the court +liked it not.” “I thank you, Master Louis,” answered the +young lady, “both for your discretion in singing what has given me +pleasure, and in forbearing what might offend me. Though a country girl, I +pretend to be so far of the court mode, as to receive nothing which does not +pass current among the better class there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would,” answered Louis, “that you were so well confirmed +in their creed, as to let all pass with you, to which court ladies would give +currency.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what would be the consequence?” said Alice, with perfect +composure. +</p> + +<p> +“In that case,” said Louis, embarrassed like a general who finds +that his preparations for attack do not seem to strike either fear or confusion +into the enemy—“in that case you would forgive me, fair Alice, if I +spoke to you in a warmer language than that of mere gallantry—if I told +you how much my heart was interested in what you consider as idle +jesting—if I seriously owned it was in your power to make me the happiest +or the most miserable of human beings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Kerneguy,” said Alice, with the same unshaken nonchalance, +“let us understand each other. I am little acquainted with high-bred +manners, and I am unwilling, I tell you plainly, to be accounted a silly +country girl, who, either from ignorance or conceit, is startled at every word +of gallantry addressed to her by a young man, who, for the present, has nothing +better to do than coin and circulate such false compliments. But I must not let +this fear of seeming rustic and awkwardly timorous carry me too far; and being +ignorant of the exact limits, I will take care to stop within them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust, madam,” said Kerneguy, “that however severely you +may be disposed to judge of me, your justice will not punish me too severely +for an offence, of which your charms are alone the occasion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear me out, sir, if you please,” resumed Alice. “I have +listened to you when you spoke <i>en berger</i>—nay, my complaisance has +been so great, as to answer you <i>en bergère</i>—for I do not think any +thing except ridicule can come of dialogues between Lindor and Jeanneton; and +the principal fault of the style is its extreme and tiresome silliness and +affectation. But when you begin to kneel, offer to take my hand, and speak with +a more serious tone, I must remind you of our real characters. I am the +daughter of Sir Henry Lee, sir; you are, or profess to be, Master Louis +Kerneguy, my brother’s page, and a fugitive for shelter under my +father’s roof, who incurs danger by the harbour he affords you, and whose +household, therefore, ought not to be disturbed by your unpleasing +importunities.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would to Heaven, fair Alice,” said the King, “that your +objections to the suit which I am urging, not in jest, but most seriously, as +that on which my happiness depends, rested only on the low and precarious +station of Louis Kerneguy!—Alice, thou hast the soul of thy family, and +must needs love honour. I am no more the needy Scottish page, whom I have, for +my own purposes, personated, than I am the awkward lout, whose manners I +adopted on the first night of our acquaintance. This hand, poor as I seem, can +confer a coronet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep it,” said Alice, “for some more ambitious damsel, my +lord,—for such I conclude is your title, if this romance be true,—I +would not accept your hand, could you confer a duchy.” +</p> + +<p> +“In one sense, lovely Alice, you have neither overrated my power nor my +affection. It is your King—it is Charles Stewart who speaks to +you!—he can confer duchies, and if beauty can merit them, it is that of +Alice Lee. Nay, nay—rise—do not kneel—it is for your +sovereign to kneel to thee, Alice, to whom he is a thousand times more devoted +than the wanderer Louis dared venture to profess himself. My Alice has, I know, +been trained up in those principles of love and obedience to her sovereign, +that she cannot, in conscience or in mercy, inflict on him such a wound as +would be implied in the rejection of his suit.” +</p> + +<p> +In spite of all Charles’s attempts to prevent her, Alice had persevered +in kneeling on one knee, until she had touched with her lip the hand with which +he attempted to raise her. But this salutation ended, she stood upright, with +her arms folded on her bosom—her looks humble, but composed, keen, and +watchful, and so possessed of herself, so little flattered by the communication +which the King had supposed would have been overpowering, that he scarce knew +in what terms next to urge his solicitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art silent—thou art silent,” he said, “my pretty +Alice. Has the King no more influence with thee than the poor Scottish +page?” +</p> + +<p> +“In one sense, every influence,” said Alice; “for he commands +my best thoughts, my best wishes, my earnest prayers, my devoted loyalty, +which, as the men of the House of Lee have been ever ready to testify with the +sword, so are the women bound to seal, if necessary, with their blood. But +beyond the duties of a true and devoted subject, the King is even less to Alice +Lee than poor Louis Kerneguy. The Page could have tendered an honourable +union—the Monarch can but offer a contaminated coronet.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mistake, Alice—you mistake,” said the King, eagerly. +“Sit down and let me speak to you—sit down—What is’t +you fear?” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear nothing, my liege,” answered Alice. “What <i>can</i> +I fear from the King of Britain—I, the daughter of his loyal subject, and +under my father’s roof? But I remember the distance betwixt us; and +though I might trifle and jest with mine equal, to my King I must only appear +in the dutiful posture of a subject, unless where his safety may seem to +require that I do not acknowledge his dignity.” +</p> + +<p> +Charles, though young, being no novice in such scenes, was surprised to +encounter resistance of a kind which had not been opposed to him in similar +pursuits, even in cases where he had been unsuccessful. There was neither +anger, nor injured pride, nor disorder, nor disdain, real or affected, in the +manners and conduct of Alice. She stood, as it seemed, calmly prepared to argue +on the subject, which is generally decided by passion—showed no +inclination to escape from the apartment, but appeared determined to hear with +patience the suit of the lover—while her countenance and manner intimated +that she had this complaisance only in deference to the commands of the King. +</p> + +<p> +“She is ambitious,” thought Charles; “it is by dazzling her +love of glory, not by mere passionate entreaties, that I must hope to be +successful.—I pray you be seated, my fair Alice,” he said; +“the lover entreats—the King commands you.” +</p> + +<p> +“The King,” said Alice, “may permit the relaxation of the +ceremonies due to royalty, but he cannot abrogate the subject’s duty, +even by express command. I stand here while it is your Majesty’s pleasure +to address—a patient listener, as in duty bound.” +</p> + +<p> +“Know then, simple girl,” said the King, “that in accepting +my proffered affection and protection, you break through no law either of +virtue or morality. Those who are born to royalty are deprived of many of the +comforts of private life—chiefly that which is, perhaps, the dearest and +most precious, the power of choosing their own mates for life. Their formal +weddings are guided upon principles of political expedience only, and those to +whom they are wedded are frequently, in temper, person, and disposition, the +most unlikely to make them happy. Society has commiseration, therefore, towards +us, and binds our unwilling and often unhappy wedlocks with chains of a lighter +and more easy character than those which fetter other men, whose marriage ties, +as more voluntarily assumed, ought, in proportion, to be more strictly binding. +And therefore, ever since the time that old Henry built these walls, priests +and prelates, as well as nobles and statesmen, have been accustomed to see a +fair Rosamond rule the heart of an affectionate monarch, and console him for +the few hours of constraint and state which he must bestow upon some angry and +jealous Eleanor. To such a connection the world attaches no blame; they rush to +the festival to admire the beauty of the lovely Esther, while the imperious +Vashti is left to queen it in solitude; they throng the palace to ask her +protection, whose influence is more in the state an hundred times than that of +the proud consort; her offspring rank with the nobles of the land, and +vindicate by their courage, like the celebrated Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, +their descent from royalty and from love. From such connections our richest +ranks of nobles are recruited; and the mother lives, in the greatness of her +posterity honoured and blest, as she died lamented and wept in the arms of love +and friendship.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did Rosamond so die, my lord?” said Alice. “Our records say +she was poisoned by the injured Queen—poisoned, without time allowed to +call to God for the pardon of her many faults. Did her memory so live? I have +heard that, when the Bishop purified the church at Godstowe, her monument was +broken open by his orders, and her bones thrown out into unconsecrated +ground.” +</p> + +<p> +“Those were rude old days, sweet Alice,” answered Charles; +“queens are not now so jealous, nor bishops so rigorous. And know, +besides, that in the lands to which I would lead the loveliest of her sex, +other laws obtain, which remove from such ties even the slightest show of +scandal. There is a mode of matrimony, which, fulfilling all the rites of the +Church, leaves no stain on the conscience; yet investing the bride with none of +the privileges peculiar to her husband’s condition, infringes not upon +the duties which the King owes to his subjects. So that Alice Lee may, in all +respects, become the real and lawful wife of Charles Stewart, except that their +private union gives her no title to be Queen of England.” +</p> + +<p> +“My ambition,” said Alice, “will be sufficiently gratified to +see Charles king, without aiming to share either his dignity in public, or his +wealth and regal luxury in private.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand thee, Alice,” said the King, hurt but not displeased. +“You ridicule me, being a fugitive, for speaking like a king. It is a +habit, I admit, which I have learned, and of which even misfortune cannot cure +me. But my case is not so desperate as you may suppose. My friends are still +many in these kingdoms; my allies abroad are bound, by regard to their own +interest, to espouse my cause. I have hopes given me from Spain, from France, +and from other nations; and I have confidence that my father’s blood has +not been poured forth in vain, nor is doomed to dry up without due vengeance. +My trust is in Him from whom princes derive their title, and, think what thou +wilt of my present condition, I have perfect confidence that I shall one day +sit on the throne of England.” +</p> + +<p> +“May God grant it!” said Alice; “and that he <i>may</i> grant +it, noble Prince, deign to consider—whether you now pursue a conduct +likely to conciliate his favour. Think of the course you recommend to a +motherless maiden, who has no better defence against your sophistry, than what +a sense of morality, together with the natural feeling of female dignity +inspires. Whether the death of her father, which would be the consequence of +her imprudence;—whether the despair of her brother, whose life has been +so often in peril to save that of your Majesty;— whether the dishonour of +the roof which has sheltered you, will read well in your annals, or are events +likely to propitiate God, whose controversy with your House has been but too +visible, or recover the affections of the people of England, in whose eyes such +actions are an abomination, I leave to your own royal mind to consider.” +</p> + +<p> +Charles paused, struck with a turn to the conversation which placed his own +interests more in collision with the gratification of his present passion than +he had supposed. +</p> + +<p> +“If your Majesty,” said Alice, curtsying deeply, “has no +farther commands for my attendance, may I be permitted to withdraw?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay yet a little, strange and impracticable girl,” said the King; +“and answer me but one question:—Is it the lowness of my present +fortunes that makes my suit contemptible?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have nothing to conceal, my liege,” she said, “and my +answer shall be as plain and direct as the question you have asked. If I could +have been moved to an act of ignominious, insane, and ungrateful folly, it +could only arise from my being blinded by that passion, which I believe is +pleaded as an excuse for folly and for crime much more often than it has a real +existence. I must, in short, have been in love, as it is called—and that +might have been—with my equal, but surely never with my sovereign, +whether such only in title, or in possession of his kingdom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet loyalty was ever the pride, almost the ruling passion, of your +family, Alice,” said the King. +</p> + +<p> +“And could I reconcile that loyalty,” said Alice, “with +indulging my sovereign, by permitting him to prosecute a suit dishonourable to +himself as to me? Ought I, as a faithful subject, to join him in a folly, which +might throw yet another stumbling-block in the path to his restoration, and +could only serve to diminish his security, even if he were seated upon his +throne?” +</p> + +<p> +“At this rate,” said Charles, discontentedly, “I had better +have retained my character of the page, than assumed that of a sovereign, which +it seems is still more irreconcilable with my wishes.” +</p> + +<p> +“My candour shall go still farther,” said Alice. “I could +have felt as little for Louis Kerneguy as for the heir of Britain; for such +love as I have to bestow, (and it is not such as I read of in romance, or hear +poured forth in song,) has been already conferred on another object. This gives +your Majesty pain—I am sorry for it—but the wholesomest medicines +are often bitter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered the King, with some asperity, “and physicians +are reasonable enough to expect their patients to swallow them, as if they were +honeycomb. It is true, then, that whispered tale of the cousin Colonel, and the +daughter of the loyal Lee has set her heart upon a rebellious fanatic?” +</p> + +<p> +“My love was given ere I knew what these words fanatic and rebel meant. I +recalled it not, for I am satisfied, that amidst the great distractions which +divide the kingdom, the person to whom you allude has chosen his part, +erroneously, perhaps, but conscientiously—he, therefore, has still the +highest place in my affection and esteem. More he cannot have, and will not +ask, until some happy turn shall reconcile these public differences, and my +father be once more reconciled to him. Devoutly do I pray that such an event +may occur by your Majesty’s speedy and unanimous restoration!” +</p> + +<p> +“You have found out a reason,” said the King, pettishly, “to +make me detest the thought of such a change—nor have you, Alice, any +sincere interest to pray for it. On the contrary, do you not see that your +lover, walking side by side with Cromwell, may, or rather must, share his +power? nay, if Lambert does not anticipate him, he may trip up Oliver’s +heels, and reign in his stead. And think you not he will find means to overcome +the pride of the loyal Lees, and achieve an union, for which things are better +prepared than that which Cromwell is said to meditate betwixt one of his brats +and the no less loyal heir of Fauconberg?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Majesty,” said Alice, “has found a way at length to +avenge yourself—if what I have said deserves vengeance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could point out a yet shorter road to your union,” said Charles, +without minding her distress, or perhaps enjoying the pleasure of retaliation. +“Suppose that you sent your Colonel word that there was one Charles +Stewart here, who had come to disturb the Saints in their peaceful government, +which they had acquired by prayer and preaching, pike and gun,—and +suppose he had the art to bring down a half-score of troopers, quite enough, as +times go, to decide the fate of this heir of royalty—think you not the +possession of such a prize as this might obtain from the Rumpers, or from +Cromwell, such a reward as might overcome your father’s objections to a +roundhead’s alliance, and place the fair Alice and her cousin Colonel in +full possession of their wishes?” +</p> + +<p> +“My liege,” said Alice, her cheeks glowing, and her eyes +sparkling—for she too had her share of the hereditary temperament of her +family,— “this passes my patience. I have heard, without expressing +anger, the most ignominious persuasions addressed to myself, and I have +vindicated myself for refusing to be the paramour of a fugitive Prince, as if I +had been excusing myself from accepting a share of an actual crown. But do you +think I can hear all who are dear to me slandered without emotion or reply? I +will not, sir; and were you seated with all the terrors of your father’s +Star-chamber around you, you should hear me defend the absent and the innocent. +Of my father I will say nothing, but that if he is now without +wealth—without state, almost without a sheltering home and needful +food—it is because he spent all in the service of the King. He needed not +to commit any act of treachery or villany to obtain wealth— he had an +ample competence in his own possessions. For Markham Everard— he knows no +such thing as selfishness—he would not, for broad England, had she the +treasures of Peru in her bosom, and a paradise on her surface, do a deed that +would disgrace his own name, or injure the feelings of another—Kings, my +liege, may take a lesson from him. My liege, for the present I take my +leave.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alice, Alice—stay!” exclaimed the King. “She is +gone.—This must be virtue—real, disinterested, overawing +virtue—or there is no such thing on earth. Yet Wilmot and Villiers will +not believe a word of it, but add the tale to the other wonders of Woodstock. +’Tis a rare wench! and I profess, to use the Colonel’s obtestation, +that I know not whether to forgive and be friends with her, or study a dire +revenge. If it were not for that accursed cousin—that puritan +Colonel—I could forgive every thing else to so noble a wench. But a +roundheaded rebel preferred to me—the preference avowed to my face, and +justified with the assertion, that a king might take a lesson from him—it +is gall and wormwood. If the old man had not come up this morning as he did, +the King should have taken or given a lesson, and a severe one. It was a mad +rencontre to venture upon with my rank and responsibility—and yet this +wench has made me so angry with her, and so envious of him, that if an +opportunity offered, I should scarce be able to forbear him.—Ha! whom +have we here?” +</p> + +<p> +The interjection at the conclusion of this royal soliloquy, was occasioned by +the unexpected entrance of another personage of the drama. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +<i>Benedict</i>. Shall I speak a word in your ear?<br/> +<i>Claudio</i>. God bless me from a challenge. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +M<small>UCH</small> A<small>DO ABOUT</small> N<small>OTHING</small>. +</p> + +<p> +As Charles was about to leave the apartment, he was prevented by the appearance +of Wildrake, who entered with an unusual degree of swagger in his gait, and of +fantastic importance on his brow. “I crave your pardon, fair sir,” +he said; “but, as they say in my country, when doors are open dogs enter. +I have knocked and called in the hall to no purpose; so, knowing the way to +this parlour, sir,—for I am a light partisan, and the road I once travel +I never forget,—I ventured to present myself unannounced.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Henry Lee is abroad, sir, I believe, in the Chase,” said +Charles, coldly, for the appearance of this somewhat vulgar debauchee was not +agreeable to him at the moment, “and Master Albert Lee has left the Lodge +for two or three days.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am aware of it, sir,” said Wildrake; “but I have no +business at present with either.” +</p> + +<p> +“And with whom is your business?” said Charles; “that is, if +I may be permitted to ask—since I think it cannot in possibility be with +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me in turn, sir,” answered the cavalier; “in no +possibility can it be imparted to any other but yourself, if you be, as I think +you are, though in something better habit, Master Louis Girnigo, the Scottish +gentleman who waits upon Master Albert Lee.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am all you are like to find for him,” answered Charles. +</p> + +<p> +“In truth,” said the cavalier, “I do perceive a difference, +but rest, and better clothing, will do much; and I am glad of it, since I would +be sorry to have brought a message, such as I am charged with, to a +tatterdemalion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us get to the business, sir, if you please,” said the +King—“you have a message for me, you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“True, sir,” replied Wildrake; “I am the friend of Colonel +Markham Everard, sir, a tall man, and a worthy person in the field, although I +could wish him a better cause—A message I have to you, it is certain, in +a slight note, which I take the liberty of presenting with the usual +formalities.” So saying, he drew his sword, put the billet he mentioned +upon the point, and making a profound bow, presented it to Charles. +</p> + +<p> +The disguised Monarch accepted of it, with a grave return of the salute, and +said, as he was about to open the letter, “I am not, I presume, to expect +friendly contents in an epistle presented in so hostile a manner?” +</p> + +<p> +“A-hem, sir,” replied the ambassador, clearing his voice, while he +arranged a suitable answer, in which the mild strain of diplomacy might be +properly maintained; “not utterly hostile, I suppose, sir, is the +invitation, though it be such as must be construed in the commencement rather +bellicose and pugnacious. I trust, sir, we shall find that a few thrusts will +make a handsome conclusion of the business; and so, as my old master used to +say, <i>Pax mascitur ex bello</i>. For my own poor share, I am truly glad to +have been graced by my friend, Markham Everard, in this matter—the rather +as I feared the puritan principles with which he is imbued, (I will confess the +truth to you, worthy sir,) might have rendered him unwilling, from certain +scruples, to have taken the gentlemanlike and honourable mode of righting +himself in such a case as the present. And as I render a friend’s duty to +my friend, so I humbly hope, Master Louis Girnigo, that I do no injustice to +you, in preparing the way for the proposed meeting, where, give me leave to +say, I trust, that if no fatal accident occur, we shall be all better friends +when the skirmish is over than we were before it began.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should suppose so, sir, in any case,” said Charles, looking at +the letter; “worse than mortal enemies we can scarce be, and it is that +footing upon which this billet places us.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say true, sir,” said Wildrake; “it is, sir, a cartel, +introducing to a single combat, for the pacific object of restoring a perfect +good understanding betwixt the survivors—in case that fortunately that +word can be used in the plural after the event of the meeting.” +</p> + +<p> +“In short, we only fight, I suppose,” replied the King, “that +we may come to a perfectly good and amicable understanding?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right again, sir; and I thank you for the clearness of your +apprehension,” said Wildrake.—“Ah, sir, it is easy to do with +a person of honour and of intellect in such a case as this. And I beseech you, +sir, as a personal kindness to myself, that, as the morning is like to be +frosty, and myself am in some sort rheumatic—as war will leave its scars +behind, sir,—I say, I will entreat of you to bring with you some +gentleman of honour, who will not disdain to take part in what is going +forward—a sort of pot-luck, sir—with a poor old soldier like +myself— that we may take no harm by standing unoccupied during such cold +weather.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand, sir,” replied Charles; “if this matter goes +forward, be assured I will endeavour to provide you with a suitable +opponent.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall remain greatly indebted to you, sir,” said Wildrake; +“and I am by no means curious about the quality of my antagonist. It is +true I write myself esquire and gentleman, and should account myself especially +honoured by crossing my sword with that of Sir Henry or Master Albert Lee; but, +should that not be convenient, I will not refuse to present my poor person in +opposition to any gentleman who has served the King,— which I always hold +as a sort of letters of nobility in itself, and, therefore, would on no account +decline the duello with such a person.” +</p> + +<p> +“The King is much obliged to you, sir,” said Charles, “for +the honour you do his faithful subjects.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, sir, I am scrupulous on that point—very scrupulous.—When +there is a roundhead in question, I consult the Herald’s books, to see +that he is entitled to bear arms, as is Master Markham Everard, without which, +I promise you, I had borne none of his cartel. But a cavalier is with me a +gentleman, of course—Be his birth ever so low, his loyalty has ennobled +his condition.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is well, sir,” said the King. “This paper requests me to +meet Master Everard at six to-morrow morning, at the tree called the +King’s Oak—I object neither to place nor time. He proffers the +sword, at which, he says, we possess some equality—I do not decline the +weapon; for company, two gentlemen—I shall endeavour to procure myself an +associate, and a suitable partner for you, sir, if you incline to join in the +dance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I kiss your hand, sir, and rest yours, under a sense of +obligation,” answered the envoy. +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, sir,” continued the King; “I will therefore be +ready at place and time, and suitably furnished; and I will either give your +friend such satisfaction with my sword as he requires, or will render him such +cause for not doing so as he will be contented with.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will excuse me, sir,” said Wildrake, “if my mind is too +dull, under the circumstances, to conceive any alternative that can remain +betwixt two men of honour in such a case, +excepting—sa—sa—.” He threw himself into a fencing +position, and made a pass with his sheathed rapier, but not directed towards +the person of the King, whom he addressed. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, sir,” said Charles, “if I do not trouble your +intellects with the consideration of a case which may not occur.—But, for +example, I may plead urgent employment on the part of the public.” This +he spoke in a low and mysterious tone of voice, which Wildrake appeared +perfectly to comprehend; for he laid his forefinger on his nose with what he +meant for a very intelligent and apprehensive nod. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said he, “if you be engaged in any affair for the +King, my friend shall have every reasonable degree of patience—Nay, I +will fight him myself in your stead, merely to stay his stomach, rather than +you should be interrupted.—And, sir, if you can find room in your +enterprise for a poor gentleman that has followed Lunsford and Goring, you have +but to name day, time, and place of rendezvous; for truly, sir, I am tired of +the scald hat, cropped hair, and undertaker’s cloak, with which my friend +has bedizened me, and would willingly ruffle it out once more in the +King’s cause, when whether I be banged or hanged, I care not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall remember what you say, sir, should an opportunity occur,” +said the King; “and I wish his Majesty had many such subjects—I +presume our business is now settled?” +</p> + +<p> +“When you shall have been pleased, sir, to give me a trifling scrap of +writing, to serve for my credentials—for such, you know, is the +custom—your written cartel hath its written answer.” +</p> + +<p> +“That, sir, will I presently do,” said Charles, “and in good +time, here are the materials.” +</p> + +<p> +“And, sir,” continued the +envoy—“Ah!—ahem!—if you have interest in the household +for a cup of sack—I am a man of few words, and am somewhat hoarse with +much speaking—moreover, a serious business of this kind always makes one +thirsty.—Besides, sir, to part with dry lips argues malice, which God +forbid should exist in such an honourable conjuncture.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not boast much influence in the house, sir,” said the King; +“but if you would have the condescension to accept of this broad piece +towards quenching your thirst at the George”— +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said the cavalier, (for the times admitted of this strange +species of courtesy, nor was Wildrake a man of such peculiar delicacy as keenly +to dispute the matter,)—“I am once again beholden to you. But I see +not how it consists with my honour to accept of such accommodation, unless you +were to accompany and partake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, sir,” replied Charles, “my safety recommends that +I remain rather private at present.” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough said,” Wildrake observed; “poor cavaliers must not +stand on ceremony. I see, sir, you understand cutter’s law—when one +tall fellow has coin, another must not be thirsty. I wish you, sir, a +continuance of health and happiness until to-morrow, at the King’s Oak, +at six o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, sir,” said the King, and added, as Wildrake went down +the stair whistling, “Hey for cavaliers,” to which air his long +rapier, jarring against the steps and banisters, bore no unsuitable +burden— “Farewell, thou too just emblem of the state, to which war, +and defeat, and despair, have reduced many a gallant gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +During the rest of the day, there occurred nothing peculiarly deserving of +notice. Alice sedulously avoided showing towards the disguised Prince any +degree of estrangement or shyness, which could be discovered by her father, or +by any one else. To all appearance, the two young persons continued on the same +footing in every respect. Yet she made the gallant himself sensible, that this +apparent intimacy was assumed merely to save appearances, and in no way +designed as retracting from the severity with which she had rejected his suit. +The sense that this was the case, joined to his injured self-love, and his +enmity against a successful rival, induced Charles early to withdraw himself to +a solitary walk in the wilderness, where, like Hercules in the Emblem of Cebes, +divided betwixt the personifications of Virtue and of Pleasure, he listened +alternately to the voice of Wisdom and of passionate Folly. +</p> + +<p> +Prudence urged to him the importance of his own life to the future prosecution +of the great object in which he had for the present miscarried—the +restoration of monarchy in England, the rebuilding of the throne, the regaining +the crown of his father, the avenging his death, and restoring to their +fortunes and their country the numerous exiles, who were suffering poverty and +banishment on account of their attachment to his cause. Pride too, or rather a +just and natural sense of dignity, displayed the unworthiness of a Prince +descending to actual personal conflict with a subject of any degree, and the +ridicule which would be thrown on his memory, should he lose his life for an +obscure intrigue by the hand of a private gentleman. What would his sage +counsellors, Nicholas and Hyde—what would his kind and wise governor, the +Marquis of Hertford, say to such an act of rashness and folly? Would it not be +likely to shake the allegiance of the staid and prudent persons of the royalist +party, since wherefore should they expose their lives and estates to raise to +the government of a kingdom a young man who could not command his own temper? +To this was to be added, the consideration that even his success would add +double difficulties to his escape, which already seemed sufficiently +precarious. If, stopping short of death, he merely had the better of his +antagonist, how did he know that he might not seek revenge by delivering up to +government the malignant Louis Kerneguy, whose real character could not in that +case fail to be discovered? +</p> + +<p> +These considerations strongly recommended to Charles that he should clear +himself of the challenge without fighting; and the reservation under which he +had accepted it, afforded him some opportunity of doing so. +</p> + +<p> +But Passion also had her arguments, which she addressed to a temper rendered +irritable by recent distress and mortification. In the first place, if he was a +prince, he was also a gentleman, entitled to resent as such, and obliged to +give or claim the satisfaction expected on occasion of differences among +gentlemen. With Englishmen, she urged, he could never lose interest by showing +himself ready, instead of sheltering himself under his royal birth and +pretensions, to come frankly forward and maintain what he had done or said on +his own responsibility. In a free nation, it seemed as if he would rather gain +than lose in the public estimation by a conduct which could not but seem +gallant and generous. Then a character for courage was far more necessary to +support his pretensions than any other kind of reputation; and the lying under +a challenge, without replying to it, might bring his spirit into question. What +would Villiers and Wilmot say of an intrigue, in which he had allowed himself +to be shamefully baffled by a country girl, and had failed to revenge himself +on his rival? The pasquinades which they would compose, the witty sarcasms +which they would circulate on the occasion, would be harder to endure than the +grave rebukes of Hertford, Hyde, and Nicholas. This reflection, added to the +stings of youthful and awakened courage, at length fixed his resolution, and he +returned to Woodstock determined to keep his appointment, come of it what +might. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps there mingled with his resolution a secret belief that such a rencontre +would not prove fatal. He was in the flower of his youth, active in all his +exercises, and no way inferior to Colonel Everard, as far as the +morning’s experiment had gone, in that of self-defence. At least, such +recollection might pass through his royal mind, as he hummed to himself a +well-known ditty, which he had picked up during his residence in +Scotland— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“A man may drink and not be drunk;<br/> + A man may fight and not be slain;<br/> +A man may kiss a bonnie lass,<br/> + And yet be welcome back again.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the busy and all-directing Dr. Rochecliffe had contrived to intimate +to Alice that she must give him a private audience, and she found him by +appointment in what was called the study, once filled with ancient books, +which, long since converted into cartridges, had made more noise in the world +at their final exit, than during the space which had intervened betwixt that +and their first publication. The Doctor seated himself in a high-backed +leathern easy-chair, and signed to Alice to fetch a stool and sit down beside +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Alice,” said the old man, taking her hand affectionately, +“thou art a good girl, a wise girl, a virtuous girl, one of those whose +price is above rubies—not that <i>rubies</i> is the proper +translation—but remind me to tell you of that another time. Alice, thou +knowest who this Louis Kerneguy is—nay, hesitate not to me—I know +every thing—I am well aware of the whole matter. Thou knowest this +honoured house holds the Fortunes of England.” Alice was about to answer. +“Nay, speak not, but listen to me, Alice—How does he bear himself +towards you?” +</p> + +<p> +Alice coloured with the deepest crimson. “I am a country-bred +girl,” she said, “and his manners are too courtlike for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough said—I know it all. Alice, he is exposed to a great danger +to-morrow, and you must be the happy means to prevent him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I prevent him!—how, and in what manner?” said Alice, in +surprise. “It is my duty, as a subject, to do anything—anything +that may become my father’s daughter”— +</p> + +<p> +Here she stopped, considerably embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” continued the Doctor, “to-morrow he hath made an +appointment—an appointment with Markham Everard; the hour and place are +set—six in the morning, by the King’s Oak. If they meet, one will +probably fall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, may God forefend they should meet,” said Alice, turning as +suddenly pale as she had previously reddened. “But harm cannot come of +it; Everard will never lift his sword against the King.” +</p> + +<p> +“For that,” said Dr. Rochecliffe, “I would not warrant. But +if that unhappy young gentleman shall have still some reserve of the loyalty +which his general conduct entirely disavows, it would not serve us here; for he +knows not the King, but considers him merely as a cavalier, from whom he has +received injury.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let him know the truth, Doctor Rochecliffe, let him know it +instantly,” said Alice; “<i>he</i> lift hand against the King, a +fugitive and defenceless! He is incapable of it. My life on the issue, he +becomes most active in his preservation.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is the thought of a maiden, Alice,” answered the Doctor; +“and, as I fear, of a maiden whose wisdom is misled by her affections. It +were worse than treason to admit a rebel officer, the friend of the +arch-traitor Cromwell, into so great a secret. I dare not answer for such +rashness. Hammond was trusted by his father, and you know what came of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then let my father know. He will meet Markham, or send to him, +representing the indignity done to him by attacking his guest.” +</p> + +<p> +“We dare not let your father into the secret who Louis Kerneguy really +is. I did but hint the possibility of Charles taking refuge at Woodstock, and +the rapture into which Sir Henry broke out, the preparations for accommodation +and the defence which he began to talk of, plainly showed that the mere +enthusiasm of his loyalty would have led to a risk of discovery. It is you, +Alice, who must save the hopes of every true royalist.” +</p> + +<p> +“I!” answered Alice; “it is impossible.—Why cannot my +father be induced to interfere, as in behalf of his friend and guest, though he +know him as no other than Louis Kerneguy?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have forgot your father’s character, my young friend,” +said the Doctor; “an excellent man, and the best of Christians, till +there is a clashing of swords, and then he starts up the complete martialist, +as deaf to every pacific reasoning as if he were a game-cock.” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget, Doctor Rochecliffe,” said Alice, “that this very +morning, if I understand the thing aright, my father prevented them from +fighting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” answered the Doctor, “because he deemed himself bound +to keep the peace in the Royal-Park; but it was done with such regret, Alice, +that, should he find them at it again, I am clear to foretell he will only so +far postpone the combat as to conduct them to some unprivileged ground, and +there bid them tilt and welcome, while he regaled his eyes with a scene so +pleasing. No, Alice, it is you, and you only, who can help us in this +extremity.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see no possibility,” said she, again colouring, “how I can +be of the least use.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must send a note,” answered Dr. Rochecliffe, “to the +King—a note such as all women know how to write better than any man can +teach them—to meet you at the precise hour of the rendezvous. He will not +fail you, for I know his unhappy foible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor Rochecliffe,” said Alice gravely,—“you have +known me from infancy,—What have you seen in me to induce you to believe +that I should ever follow such unbecoming counsel?” +</p> + +<p> +“And if you have known <i>me</i> from infancy,” retorted the +Doctor, “what have you seen of <i>me</i> that you should suspect me of +giving counsel to my friend’s daughter, which it would be misbecoming in +her to follow? You cannot be fool enough, I think, to suppose, that I mean you +should carry your complaisance farther than to keep him in discourse for an +hour or two, till I have all in readiness for his leaving this place, from +which I can frighten him by the terrors of an alleged search?—So, C. S. +mounts his horse and rides off, and Mistress Alice Lee has the honour of saving +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, at the expense of my own reputation,” said Alice, “and +the risk of an eternal stain on my family. You say you know all. What can the +King think of my appointing an assignation with him after what has passed, and +how will it be possible to disabuse him respecting the purpose of my doing +so?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will disabuse him, Alice; I will explain the whole.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doctor Rochecliffe,” said Alice, “you propose what is +impossible. You can do much by your ready wit and great wisdom; but if +new-fallen snow were once sullied, not all your art could wash it clean again; +and it is altogether the same with a maiden’s reputation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alice, my dearest child,” said the Doctor, “bethink you that +if I recommended this means of saving the life of the King, at least rescuing +him from instant peril, it is because I see no other of which to avail myself. +If I bid you assume, even for a moment, the semblance of what is wrong, it is +but in the last extremity, and under circumstances which cannot return—I +will take the surest means to prevent all evil report which can arise from what +I recommend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say not so, Doctor,” said Alice; “better undertake to turn +back the Isis than to stop the course of calumny. The King will make boast to +his whole licentious court, of the ease with which, but for a sudden alarm, he +could have brought off Alice Lee as a paramour—the mouth which confers +honour on others, will then be the means to deprive me of mine. Take a fitter +course, one more becoming your own character and profession. Do not lead him to +fail in an engagement of honour, by holding out the prospect of another +engagement equally dishonourable, whether false or true. Go to the King +himself, speak to him, as the servants of God have a right to speak, even to +earthly sovereigns. Point out to him the folly and the wickedness of the course +he is about to pursue—urge upon him, that he fear the sword, since wrath +bringeth the punishment of the sword. Tell him, that the friends who died for +him in the field at Worcester, on the scaffolds, and on the gibbets, since that +bloody day—that the remnant who are in prison, scattered, fled, and +ruined on his account, deserve better of him and his father’s race, than +that he should throw away his life in an idle brawl—Tell him, that it is +dishonest to venture that which is not his own, dishonourable to betray the +trust which brave men have reposed in his virtue and in his courage.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Rochecliffe looked on her with a melancholy smile, his eyes glistening as +he said, “Alas! Alice, even I could not plead that just cause to him so +eloquently or so impressively as thou dost. But, alack! Charles would listen to +neither. It is not from priests or women, he would say, that men should receive +counsel in affairs of honour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, hear me, Doctor Rochecliffe—I will appear at the place of +rendezvous, and I will prevent the combat—do not fear that I can do what +I say—at a sacrifice, indeed, but not that of my reputation. My heart may +be broken”—she endeavoured to stifle her sobs with +difficulty—“for the consequence; but not in the imagination of a +man, and far less that man her sovereign, shall a thought of Alice Lee be +associated with dishonour.” She hid her face in her handkerchief, and +burst out into unrestrained tears. +</p> + +<p> +“What means this hysterical passion?” said Dr. Rochecliffe, +surprised and somewhat alarmed by the vehemence of her +grief—“Maiden, I must have no concealments; I must know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exert your ingenuity, then, and discover it,” said Alice—for +a moment put out of temper at the Doctor’s pertinacious +self-importance—“Guess my purpose, as you can guess at every thing +else. It is enough to have to go through my task, I will not endure the +distress of telling it over, and that to one who—forgive me, dear +Doctor—might not think my agitation on this occasion fully +warranted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, then, my young mistress, you must be ruled,” said +Rochecliffe; “and if I cannot make you explain yourself, I must see +whether your father can gain so far on you.” So saying, he arose somewhat +displeased, and walked towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“You forget what you yourself told me, Doctor Rochecliffe,” said +Alice, “of the risk of communicating this great secret to my +father.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is too true,” he said, stopping short and turning round; +“and I think, wench, thou art too smart for me, and I have not met many +such. But thou art a good girl, and wilt tell me thy device of +free-will—it concerns my character and influence with the King, that I +should be fully acquainted with whatever is <i>actum atque tractatum</i>, done +and treated of in this matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Trust your character to me, good Doctor,” said Alice, attempting +to smile; “it is of firmer stuff than those of women, and will be safer +in my custody than mine could have been in yours. And thus much I +condescend—you shall see the whole scene—you shall go with me +yourself, and much will I feel emboldened and heartened by your company.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is something,” said the Doctor, though not altogether +satisfied with this limited confidence. “Thou wert ever a clever wench, +and I will trust thee; indeed, trust thee I find I must, whether voluntarily or +no.” +</p> + +<p> +“Meet me, then,” said Alice, “in the wilderness to-morrow. +But first tell me, are you well assured of time and place?—a mistake were +fatal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Assure yourself my information is entirely accurate,” said the +Doctor, resuming his air of consequence, which had been a little diminished +during the latter part of their conference. +</p> + +<p> +“May I ask,” said Alice, “through what channel you acquired +such important information?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may ask, unquestionably,” he answered, now completely restored +to his supremacy; “but whether I will answer or not, is a very different +question. I conceive neither your reputation nor my own is interested in your +remaining in ignorance on that subject. So I have my secrets as well as you, +mistress; and some of them, I fancy, are a good deal more worth knowing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be it so,” said Alice, quietly; “if you will meet me in the +wilderness by the broken dial at half-past five exactly, we will go together +to-morrow, and watch them as they come to the rendezvous. I will on the way get +the better of my present timidity, and explain to you the means I design to +employ to prevent mischief. You can perhaps think of making some effort which +may render my interference, unbecoming and painful as it must be, altogether +unnecessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my child,” said the Doctor, “if you place yourself in +my hands, you will be the first that ever had reason to complain of my want of +conduct, and you may well judge you are the very last (one excepted) whom I +would see suffer for want of counsel. At half-past five, then, at the dial in +the wilderness—and God bless our undertaking!” +</p> + +<p> +Here their interview was interrupted by the sonorous voice of Sir Henry Lee, +which shouted their names, “Daughter Alice—Doctor +Rochecliffe,” through passage and gallery. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you here,” said he, entering, “sitting like two +crows in a mist, when we have such rare sport below? Here is this wild +crack-brained boy Louis Kerneguy, now making me laugh till my sides are fit to +split, and now playing on his guitar sweetly enough to win a lark from the +heavens.—Come away with you, come away. It is hard work to laugh +alone.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +This is the place, the centre of the grove;<br/> +Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +J<small>OHN</small> H<small>OME</small>. +</p> + +<p> +The sun had risen on the broad boughs of the forest, but without the power of +penetrating into its recesses, which hung rich with heavy dewdrops, and were +beginning on some of the trees to exhibit the varied tints of autumn; it being +the season when Nature, like a prodigal whose race is well-nigh run, seems +desirous to make up in profuse gaiety and variety of colours, for the short +space which her splendour has then to endure. The birds were silent—and +even Robin-redbreast, whose chirruping song was heard among the bushes near the +Lodge, emboldened by the largesses with which the good old knight always +encouraged his familiarity, did not venture into the recesses of the wood, +where he encountered the sparrow-hawk, and other enemies of a similar +description, preferring the vicinity of the dwellings of man, from whom he, +almost solely among the feathered tribes, seems to experience disinterested +protection. +</p> + +<p> +The scene was therefore at once lovely and silent, when the good Dr. +Rochecliffe, wrapped in a scarlet roquelaure, which had seen service in its +day, muffling his face more from habit than necessity, and supporting Alice on +his arm, (she also defended by a cloak against the cold and damp of the autumn +morning,) glided through the tangled and long grass of the darkest alleys, +almost ankle-deep in dew, towards the place appointed for the intended duel. +Both so eagerly maintained the consultation in which they were engaged, that +they were alike insensible of the roughness and discomforts of the road, though +often obliged to force their way through brushwood and coppice, which poured +down on them all the liquid pearls with which they were loaded, till the +mantles they were wrapped in hung lank by their sides, and clung to their +shoulders heavily charged with moisture. They stopped when they had attained a +station under the coppice, and shrouded by it, from which they could see all +that passed on the little esplanade before the King’s Oak, whose broad +and scathed form, contorted and shattered limbs, and frowning brows, made it +appear like some ancient war-worn champion, well selected to be the umpire of a +field of single combat. +</p> + +<p> +The first person who appeared at the rendezvous was the gay cavalier Roger +Wildrake. He also was wrapped in his cloak, but had discarded his puritanic +beaver, and wore in its stead a Spanish hat, with a feather and gilt hatband, +all of which had encountered bad weather and hard service; but to make amends +for the appearance of poverty by the show of pretension, the castor was +accurately adjusted after what was rather profanely called the d—me cut, +used among the more desperate cavaliers. He advanced hastily, and exclaimed +aloud—“First in the field after all, by Jove, though I bilked +Everard in order to have my morning draught.— It has done me much +good,” he added, smacking his lips.—“Well, I suppose I should +search the ground ere my principal comes up, whose Presbyterian watch trudges +as slow as his Presbyterian step.” +</p> + +<p> +He took his rapier from under his cloak, and seemed about to search the +thickets around. +</p> + +<p> +“I will prevent him,” whispered the Doctor to Alice. “I will +keep faith with you—you shall not come on the scene—<i>nisi dignus +vindice nodus</i>— I’ll explain that another time. <i>Vindex</i> is +feminine as well as masculine, so the quotation is defensible.—Keep you +close.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he stepped forward on the esplanade, and bowed to Wildrake. +</p> + +<p> +“Master Louis Kerneguy,” said Wildrake, pulling off his hat; but +instantly discovering his error, he added, “But no—I beg your +pardon, sir—Fatter, shorter, older.—Mr. Kerneguy’s friend, I +suppose, with whom I hope to have a turn by and by.—And why not now, sir, +before our principals come up? Just a snack to stay the orifice of the stomach, +till the dinner is served, sir? What say you?” +</p> + +<p> +“To open the orifice of the stomach more likely, or to give it a new +one,” said the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“True, sir,” said Roger, who seemed now in his element; “you +say well—that is as thereafter may be.—But come, sir, you wear your +face muffled. I grant you, it is honest men’s fashion at this unhappy +time; the more is the pity. But we do all above board—we have no traitors +here. I’ll get into my gears first, to encourage you, and show you that +you have to deal with a gentleman, who honours the King, and is a match fit to +fight with any who follow him, as doubtless you do, sir, since you are the +friend of Master Louis Kerneguy.” +</p> + +<p> +All this while, Wildrake was busied undoing the clasps of his square-caped +cloak. +</p> + +<p> +“Off—off, ye lendings,” he said, “borrowings I should +more properly call you— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Via the curtain which shadow’d Borgia!” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he threw the cloak from him, and appeared <i>in cuerpo</i>, in a +most cavalier-like doublet, of greasy crimson satin, pinked and slashed with +what had been once white tiffany; breeches of the same; and nether-stocks, or, +as we now call them, stockings, darned in many places, and which, like those of +Poins, had been once peach-coloured. A pair of pumps, ill calculated for a walk +through the dew, and a broad shoulderbelt of tarnished embroidery, completed +his equipment. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, sir!” he exclaimed; “make haste, off with your +slough—Here I stand tight and true—as loyal a lad as ever stuck +rapier through a roundhead.—Come, sir, to your tools!” he +continued; “we may have half-a-dozen thrusts before they come yet, and +shame them for their tardiness.—Pshaw!” he exclaimed, in a most +disappointed tone, when the Doctor, unfolding his cloak, showed his clerical +dress; “Tush! it’s but the parson after all!” +</p> + +<p> +Wildrake’s respect for the Church, however, and his desire to remove one +who might possibly interrupt a scene to which he looked forward with peculiar +satisfaction, induced him presently to assume another tone. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg pardon,” he said, “my dear Doctor—I kiss the hem +of your cassock—I do, by the thundering Jove—I beg your pardon +again.—But I am happy I have met with you—They are raving for your +presence at the Lodge—to marry, or christen, or bury, or confess, or +something very urgent.—For Heaven’s sake, make haste!” +</p> + +<p> +“At the Lodge?” said the Doctor; “why, I left the Lodge this +instant—I was there later, I am sure, than you could be, who came the +Woodstock road.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied Wildrake, “it is at Woodstock they want +you.—Rat it, did I say the Lodge?—No, no—Woodstock—Mine +host cannot be hanged—his daughter married—his bastard christened, +or his wife buried—without the assistance of a <i>real</i> +clergyman—Your Holdenoughs won’t do for them.—He’s a +true man mine host; so, as you value your function, make haste.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will pardon me, Master Wildrake,” said the +Doctor—“I wait for Master Louis Kerneguy.” +</p> + +<p> +“The devil you do!” exclaimed Wildrake. “Why, I always knew +the Scots could do nothing without their minister; but d—n it, I never +thought they put them to this use neither. But I have known jolly customers in +orders, who understood how to handle the sword as well as their prayer-book. +You know the purpose of our meeting, Doctor. Do you come only as a ghostly +comforter—or as a surgeon, perhaps—or do you ever take bilboa in +hand?—Sa—sa!” +</p> + +<p> +Here he made a fencing demonstration with his sheathed rapier. +</p> + +<p> +“I have done so, sir, on necessary occasion,” said Dr. Rochecliffe. +</p> + +<p> +“Good sir, let this stand for a necessary one,” said Wildrake. +“You know my devotion for the Church. If a divine of your skill would do +me the honour to exchange but three passes with me, I should think myself happy +for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said Rochecliffe, smiling, “were there no other +objection to what you propose, I have not the means—I have no +weapon.” +</p> + +<p> +“What? you want the <i>de quoi</i>? that is unlucky indeed. But you have +a stout cane in your hand—what hinders our trying a pass (my rapier being +sheathed of course) until our principals come up? My pumps are full of this +frost-dew; and I shall be a toe or two out of pocket, if I am to stand still +all the time they are stretching themselves; for, I fancy, Doctor, you are of +my opinion, that the matter will not be a fight of cock-sparrows.” +</p> + +<p> +“My business here is to make it, if possible, be no fight at all,” +said the divine. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, rat me, Doctor, but that is too spiteful,” said Wildrake; +“and were it not for my respect for the Church, I could turn +Presbyterian, to be revenged.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stand back a little, if you please, sir,” said the Doctor; +“do not press forward in that direction.”—For Wildrake, in +the agitation of his movements, induced by his disappointment, approached the +spot where Alice remained still concealed. +</p> + +<p> +“And wherefore not, I pray you, Doctor?” said the cavalier. +</p> + +<p> +But on advancing a step, he suddenly stopped short, and muttered to himself, +with a round oath of astonishment, “A petticoat in the coppice, by all +that is reverend, and at this hour in the morning— +<i>Whew—ew—ew</i>!”—He gave vent to his surprise in a +long low interjectional whistle; then turning to the Doctor, with his finger on +the side of his nose, “You’re sly, Doctor, d—d sly! But why +not give me a hint of your—your commodity there—your contraband +goods? Gad, sir, I am not a man to expose the eccentricities of the +Church.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” said Dr. Rochecliffe, “you are impertinent; and if +time served, and it were worth my while, I would chastise you.” +</p> + +<p> +And the Doctor, who had served long enough in the wars to have added some of +the qualities of a captain of horse to those of a divine, actually raised his +cane, to the infinite delight of the rake, whose respect for the Church was by +no means able to subdue his love of mischief. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Doctor,” said he, “if you wield your weapon +broadsword-fashion, in that way, and raise it as high as your head, I shall be +through you in a twinkling.” So saying, he made a pass with his sheathed +rapier, not precisely at the Doctor’s person, but in that direction; when +Rochecliffe, changing the direction of his cane from the broadsword guard to +that of the rapier, made the cavalier’s sword spring ten yards out of his +hand, with all the dexterity of my friend Francalanza. At this moment both the +principal parties appeared on the field. +</p> + +<p> +Everard exclaimed angrily to Wildrake, “Is this your friendship? In +Heaven’s name, what make you in that fool’s jacket, and playing the +pranks of a jack-pudding?” while his worthy second, somewhat +crest-fallen, held down his head, like a boy caught in roguery, and went to +pick up his weapon, stretching his head, as he passed, into the coppice, to +obtain another glimpse, if possible, of the concealed object of his curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +Charles in the meantime, still more surprised at what he beheld, called out on +his part—“What! Doctor Rochecliffe become literally one of the +church militant, and tilting with my friend cavalier Wildrake? May I use the +freedom to ask him to withdraw, as Colonel Everard and I have some private +business to settle?” +</p> + +<p> +It was Dr. Rochecliffe’s cue, on this important occasion, to have armed +himself with the authority of his sacred office, and used a tone of +interference which might have overawed even a monarch, and made him feel that +his monitor spoke by a warrant higher than his own. But the indiscreet latitude +he had just given to his own passion, and the levity in which he had been +detected, were very unfavourable to his assuming that superiority, to which so +uncontrollable a spirit as that of Charles, wilful as a prince, and capricious +as a wit, was at all likely to submit. The Doctor did, however, endeavour to +rally his dignity, and replied, with the gravest, and at the same time the most +respectful, tone he could assume, that he also had business of the most urgent +nature, which prevented him from complying with Master Kerneguy’s wishes +and leaving the spot. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse this untimely interruption,” said Charles, taking off his +hat, and bowing to Colonel Everard, “which I will immediately put an end +to.” Everard gravely returned his salute, and was silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you mad, Doctor Rochecliffe?” said Charles—“or are +you deaf?—or have you forgotten your mother-tongue? I desired you to +leave this place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not mad,” said the divine, rousing up his resolution, and +regaining the natural firmness of his voice—“I would prevent others +from being so; I am not deaf—I would pray others to hear the voice of +reason and religion; I have not forgotten my mother-tongue—but I have +come hither to speak the language of the Master of kings and princes.” +</p> + +<p> +“To fence with broomsticks, I should rather suppose,” said the +King— “Come, Doctor Rochecliffe, this sudden fit of assumed +importance befits you as little as your late frolic. You are not, I apprehend, +either a Catholic priest or a Scotch Mass-John to claim devoted obedience from +your hearers, but a Church-of-England-man, subject to the rules of that +Communion—and to its HEAD.” In speaking the last words, the King +lowered his voice to a low and impressive whisper. Everard observing this drew +back, the natural generosity of his temper directing him to avoid overhearing +private discourse, in which the safety of the speakers might be deeply +concerned. They continued, however, to observe great caution in their forms of +expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Master Kerneguy,” said the clergyman, “it is not I who +assume authority or control over your wishes—God forbid; I do but tell +you what reason, Scripture, religion, and morality, alike prescribe for your +rule of conduct.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I, Doctor,” said the King, smiling, and pointing to the +unlucky cane, “will take your example rather than your precept. If a +reverend clergyman will himself fight a bout at single-stick, what right can he +have to interfere in gentlemen’s quarrels?—Come, sir, remove +yourself, and do not let your present obstinacy cancel former +obligations.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bethink yourself,” said the divine,—“I can say one +word which will prevent all this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do it,” replied the King, “and in doing so belie the whole +tenor and actions of an honourable life—abandon the principles of your +Church, and become a perjured traitor and an apostate, to prevent another +person from discharging his duty as a gentleman! This were indeed killing your +friend to prevent the risk of his running himself into danger. Let the Passive +Obedience, which is so often in your mouth, and no doubt in your head, put your +feet for once into motion, and step aside for ten minutes. Within that space +your assistance may be needed, either as body-curer or soul-curer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, then,” said Dr. Rochecliffe, “I have but one argument +left.” +</p> + +<p> +While this conversation was carried on apart, Everard had almost forcibly +detained by his own side his follower, Wildrake, whose greater curiosity, and +lesser delicacy, would otherwise have thrust him forward, to get, if possible, +into the secret. But when he saw the Doctor turn into the coppice, he whispered +eagerly to Everard—“A gold Carolus to a commonwealth farthing, the +Doctor has not only come to preach a peace, but has brought the principal +conditions along with him!” +</p> + +<p> +Everard made no answer; he had already unsheathed his sword; and Charles hardly +saw Rochecliffe’s back fairly turned, than he lost no time in following +his example. But, ere they had done more than salute each other, with the usual +courteous nourish of their weapons, Dr. Rochecliffe again stood between them, +leading in his hand Alice Lee, her garments dank with dew, and her long hair +heavy with moisture, and totally uncurled. Her face was extremely pale, but it +was the paleness of desperate resolution, not of fear. There was a dead pause +of astonishment—the combatants rested on their swords—and even the +forwardness of Wildrake only vented itself in half-suppressed ejaculations, as, +“Well done, Doctor—this beats the ‘parson among the +pease’—No less than your patron’s daughter—And Mistress +Alice, whom I thought a very snowdrop, turned out a dog-violet after +all—a Lindabrides, by heavens, and altogether one of ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Excepting these unheeded mutterings, Alice was the first to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Master Everard,” she said—“Master Kerneguy, you are +surprised to see me here—Yet, why should I not tell the reason at once? +Convinced that I am, however guiltlessly, the unhappy cause of your +misunderstanding, I am too much interested to prevent fatal consequences to +pause upon any step which may end it.—Master Kerneguy, have my wishes, my +entreaties, my prayers—have your noble thoughts—the recollections +of your own high duties, no weight with you in this matter? Let me entreat you +to consult reason, religion, and common sense, and return your weapon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am obedient as an Eastern slave, madam,” answered Charles, +sheathing his sword; “but I assure you, the matter about which you +distress yourself is a mere trifle, which will be much better settled betwixt +Colonel Everard and myself in five minutes, than with the assistance of the +whole Convocation of the Church, with a female parliament to assist their +reverend deliberations.—Mr. Everard, will you oblige me by walking a +little farther?—We must change ground, it seems.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am ready to attend you, sir,” said Everard, who had sheathed his +sword so soon as his antagonist did so. +</p> + +<p> +“I have then no interest with you, sir,” said Alice, continuing to +address the King—“Do you not fear I should use the secret in my +power to prevent this affair going to extremity? Think you this gentleman, who +raises his hand against you, if he knew”— +</p> + +<p> +“If he knew that I were Lord Wilmot, you would say?—Accident has +given him proof to that effect, with which he is already satisfied, and I think +you would find it difficult to induce him to embrace a different +opinion.” +</p> + +<p> +Alice paused, and looked on the King with great indignation, the following +words dropping from her mouth by intervals, as if they burst forth one by one +in spite of feelings that would have restrained +them—“Cold—selfish—ungrateful—unkind!—Woe +to the land which”—Here she paused with marked emphasis, then +added—“which shall number thee, or such as thee, among her nobles +and rulers!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, fair Alice,” said Charles, whose good nature could not but +feel the severity of this reproach, though too slightly to make all the desired +impression, “You are too unjust to me—too partial to a happier man. +Do not call me unkind; I am but here to answer Mr. Everard’s summons. I +could neither decline attending, nor withdraw now I am here, without loss of +honour; and my loss of honour would be a disgrace which must extend to +many—I cannot fly from Mr. Everard—it would be too shameful. If he +abides by his message, it must be decided as such affairs usually are. If he +retreats or yields it up, I will, for your sake, wave punctilio. I will not +even ask an apology for the trouble it has afforded me, but let all pass as if +it were the consequence of some unhappy mistake, the grounds of which shall +remain on my part unenquired into.—This I will do for your sake, and it +is much for a man of honour to condescend so far—You know that the +condescension from me in particular is great indeed. Then do not call me +ungenerous, or ungrateful, or unkind, since I am ready to do all, which, as a +man, I can do, and more perhaps than as a man of honour I ought to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear this, Markham Everard?” exclaimed +Alice—“do you hear this?—The dreadful option is left entirely +at your disposal. You were wont to be temperate in passion, religious, +forgiving—will you, for a mere punctilio, drive on this private and +unchristian broil to a murderous extremity? Believe me, if you now, contrary to +all the better principles of your life, give the reins to your passions, the +consequences may be such as you will rue for your lifetime, and even, if Heaven +have not mercy, rue after your life is finished.” +</p> + +<p> +Markham Everard remained for a moment gloomily silent,—with his eyes +fixed on the ground. At length he looked up, and answered +her—“Alice, you are a soldier’s daughter—a +soldier’s sister. All your relations, even including one whom you then +entertained some regard for, have been made soldiers by these unhappy discords. +Yet you have seen them take the field—in some instances on contrary +sides, to do their duty where their principles called them, without manifesting +this extreme degree of interest.” +</p> + +<p> +He continued, “However, what is the true concern here is our relations +with your own self, and mine is with this gentleman’s interest in you. I +had expected that our disagreement could be dealt with as men dispute matters +of honor. With your intrusion this cannot be done. I have few other options for +politely resolving this, for you would surely hate the one who killed the +other, to the loss of us both. Therefore,” addressing Charles, “in +the interest of avoid this fate, I am forced to yield my interest in her to +you; and, as I will never be the means of giving her pain, I trust you will not +think I act unworthily in retracting the letter which gave you the trouble of +attending this place at this hour.—Alice,” he said, turning his +head towards her, “Farewell, Alice, at once, and for ever!” +</p> + +<p> +The poor young lady, whose adventitious spirit had almost deserted her, +attempted to repeat the word farewell, but failing in the attempt, only +accomplished a broken and imperfect sound, and would have sunk to the ground, +but for Dr. Rochecliffe, who caught her as she fell. Roger Wildrake, also, who +had twice or thrice put to his eyes what remained of a kerchief, interested by +the lady’s evident distress, though unable to comprehend the mysterious +cause, hastened to assist the divine in supporting so fair a burden. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the disguised Prince had beheld the whole in silence, but with an +agitation to which he was unwonted, and which his swarthy features, and still +more his motions, began to betray. His posture was at first absolutely +stationary, with his arms folded on his bosom, as one who waits to be guided by +the current of events; presently after, he shifted his position, advanced and +retired his foot, clenched and opened his hand, and otherwise showed symptoms +that he was strongly agitated by contending feelings—was on the point, +too, of forming some sudden resolution, and yet still in uncertainty what +course he should pursue. +</p> + +<p> +But when he saw Markham Everard, after one look of unspeakable anguish towards +Alice, turning his back to depart, he broke out into his familiar ejaculation, +“Oddsfish! this must not be.” In three strides he overtook the +slowly retiring Everard, tapped him smartly on the shoulder, and, as he turned +round, said, with an air of command, which he well knew how to adopt at +pleasure, “One word with you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“At your pleasure, sir,” replied Everard; and naturally +conjecturing the purpose of his antagonist to be hostile, took hold of his +rapier with the left hand, and laid the right on the hilt, not displeased at +the supposed call; for anger is at least as much akin to disappointment as pity +is said to be to love. +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw!” answered the King, “that cannot be +<i>now</i>—Colonel Everard, I am CHARLES STEWART!” +</p> + +<p> +Everard recoiled in the greatest surprise, and next exclaimed, +“Impossible—it cannot be! The King of Scots has escaped from +Bristol.—My Lord Wilmot, your talents for intrigue are well known; but +this will not pass upon me.” +</p> + +<p> +“The King of Scots, Master Everard,” replied Charles, “since +you are so pleased to limit his sovereignty—at any rate, the Eldest Son +of the late Sovereign of Britain—is now before you; therefore it is +impossible he could have escaped from Bristol. Doctor Rochecliffe shall be my +voucher, and will tell you, moreover, that Wilmot is of a fair complexion and +light hair; mine, you may see, is swart as a raven.” +</p> + +<p> +Rochecliffe, seeing what was passing, abandoned Alice to the care of Wildrake, +whose extreme delicacy in the attempts he made to bring her back to life, +formed an amiable contrast to his usual wildness, and occupied him so much, +that he remained for the moment ignorant of the disclosure in which he would +have been so much interested. As for Dr. Rochecliffe, he came forward, wringing +his hands in all the demonstration of extreme anxiety, and with the usual +exclamations attending such a state. +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, Doctor Rochecliffe!” said the King, with such complete +self-possession as indeed became a prince; “we are in the hands, I am +satisfied, of a man of honour. Master Everard must be pleased in finding only a +fugitive prince in the person in whom he thought he had discovered a successful +rival. He cannot but be aware of the feelings which prevented me from taking +advantage of the cover which this young lady’s devoted loyalty afforded +me, at the risk of her own happiness. He is the party who is to profit by my +candour; and certainly I have a right to expect that my condition, already +indifferent enough, shall not be rendered worse by his becoming privy to it +under such circumstances. At any rate, the avowal is made; and it is for +Colonel Everard to consider how he is to conduct himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, your Majesty! my Liege! my King! my royal Prince!” exclaimed +Wildrake, who, at length discovering what was passing, had crawled on his +knees, and seizing the King’s hand, was kissing it, more like a child +mumbling gingerbread, or like a lover devouring the yielded hand of his +mistress, than in the manner in which such salutations pass at +court—“If my dear friend Mark Everard should prove a dog on this +occasion, rely on me I will cut his throat on the spot, were I to do the same +for myself the moment afterwards!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, hush, my good friend and loyal subject,” said the King, +“and compose yourself; for though I am obliged to put on the Prince for a +moment, we have not privacy or safety to receive our subjects in King +Cambyses’ vein.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard, who had stood for a time utterly confounded, awoke at length like a +man from a dream. +</p> + +<p> +“Sire,” he said, bowing low, and with profound deference, “if +I do not offer you the homage of a subject with knee and sword, it is because +God, by whom kings reign, has denied you for the present the power of ascending +your throne without rekindling civil war. For your safety being endangered by +me, let not such an imagination for an instant cross your mind. Had I not +respected your person—were I not bound to you for the candour with which +your noble avowal has prevented the misery of my future life, your misfortunes +would have rendered your person as sacred, so far as I can protect it, as it +could be esteemed by the most devoted royalist in the kingdom. If your plans +are soundly considered, and securely laid, think that all which is now passed +is but a dream. If they are in such a state that I can aid them, saving my duty +to the Commonwealth, which will permit me to be privy to no schemes of actual +violence, your Majesty may command my services.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be I may be troublesome to you, sir,” said the King; +“for my fortunes are not such as to permit me to reject even the most +limited offers of assistance; but if I can, I will dispense with applying to +you. I would not willingly put any man’s compassion at war with his sense +of duty on my account.—Doctor, I think there will be no farther tilting +to-day, either with sword or cane; so we may as well return to the Lodge, and +leave these”—looking at Alice and Everard—“who may have +more to say in explanation.” +</p> + +<p> +“No—no!” exclaimed Alice, who was now perfectly come to +herself, and partly by her own observation, and partly from the report of Dr. +Rochecliffe, comprehended all that had taken place—“My cousin +Everard and I have nothing to explain; he will forgive me for having riddled +with him when I dared not speak plainly; and I forgive him for having read my +riddle wrong. But my father has my promise—we must not correspond or +converse for the present—I return instantly to the Lodge, and he to +Woodstock, unless you, sire,” bowing to the King, “command his duty +otherwise. Instant to the town, Cousin Markham; and if danger should approach, +give us warning.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard would have delayed her departure, would have excused himself for his +unjust suspicion, would have said a thousand things; but she would not listen +to him, saying, for all other answer,—“Farewell, Markham, till God +send better days!” +</p> + +<p> +“She is an angel of truth and beauty,” said Roger Wildrake; +“and I, like a blasphemous heretic, called her a +Lindabrides!<a href="#fn28.1" name="fnref28.1" id="fnref28.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a>—But +has your Majesty, craving your pardon, no commands for poor Hodge Wildrake, who +will blow out his own or any other man’s brains in England, to do your +Grace a pleasure?” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn28.1" id="fn28.1"></a> <a href="#fnref28.1">[1]</a> +A sort of court name for a female of no reputation. +</p> + +<p> +“We entreat our good friend Wildrake to do nothing hastily,” said +Charles, smiling; “such brains as his are rare, and should not be rashly +dispersed, as the like may not be easily collected. We recommend him to be +silent and prudent—to tilt no more with loyal clergymen of the Church of +England, and to get himself a new jacket with all convenient speed, to which we +beg to contribute our royal aid. When fit time comes, we hope to find other +service for him.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he slid ten pieces into the hand of poor Wildrake, who, confounded +with the excess of his loyal gratitude, blubbered like a child, and would have +followed the King, had not Dr. Rochecliffe, in few words, but peremptory, +insisted that he should return with his patron, promising him he should +certainly be employed in assisting the King’s escape, could an +opportunity be found of using his services. +</p> + +<p> +“Be so generous, reverend sir, and you bind me to you for ever,” +said the cavalier; “and I conjure you not to keep malice against me on +account of the foolery you wot of.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no occasion, Captain Wildrake,” said the Doctor, “for +I think I had the best of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, Doctor, I forgive you on my part: and I pray you, for +Christian charity, let me have a finger in this good service; for as I live in +hope of it, rely that I shall die of disappointment.” +</p> + +<p> +While the Doctor and soldier thus spoke together, Charles took leave of +Everard, (who remained uncovered while he spoke to him,) with his usual +grace—“I need not bid you no longer be jealous of me,” said +the King; “for I presume you will scarce think of a match betwixt Alice +and me, which would be too losing a one on her side. For other thoughts, the +wildest libertine could not entertain them towards so high-minded a creature; +and believe me, that my sense of her merit did not need this last distinguished +proof of her truth and loyalty. I saw enough of her from her answers to some +idle sallies of gallantry, to know with what a lofty character she is endowed. +Mr. Everard, her happiness I see depends on you, and I trust you will be the +careful guardian of it. If we can take any obstacle out of the way of your +joint happiness, be assured we will use our influence.—Farewell, sir; if +we cannot be better friends, do not at least let us entertain harder or worse +thoughts of each other than we have now.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something in the manner of Charles that was extremely affecting; +something too, in his condition as a fugitive in the kingdom which was his own +by inheritance, that made a direct appeal to Everard’s bosom—though +in contradiction to the dictates of that policy which he judged it his duty to +pursue in the distracted circumstances of the country. He remained, as we have +said, uncovered; and in his manner testified the highest expression of +reverence, up to the point when such might seem a symbol of allegiance. He +bowed so low as almost to approach his lips to the hand of Charles—but he +did not kiss it.—“I would rescue your person, sir,” he said, +“with the purchase of my own life. More”—He stopped short, +and the King took up his sentence where it broke off—“More you +cannot do,” said Charles, “to maintain an honourable +consistency—but what you have said is enough. You cannot render homage to +my proffered hand as that of a sovereign, but you will not prevent my taking +yours as a friend—if you allow me to call myself so—I am sure, as a +well-wisher at least.” +</p> + +<p> +The generous soul of Everard was touched—He took the King’s hand, +and pressed it to his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he said, “were better times to come”— +</p> + +<p> +“Bind yourself to nothing, dear Everard,” said the good-natured +Prince, partaking his emotion—“We reason ill while our feelings are +moved. I will recruit no man to his loss, nor will I have my fallen fortunes +involve those of others, because they have humanity enough to pity my present +condition. If better times come, why we will meet again, and I hope to our +mutual satisfaction. If not, as your future father-in-law would say,” (a +benevolent smile came over his face, and accorded not unmeetly with his +glistening eyes,)—“If not, this parting was well made.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard turned away with a deep bow, almost choking under contending feelings; +the uppermost of which was a sense of the generosity with which Charles, at his +own imminent risk, had cleared away the darkness that seemed about to overwhelm +his prospects of happiness for life— mixed with a deep sense of the +perils by which he was environed. He returned to the little town, followed by +his attendant Wildrake, who turned back so often, with weeping eyes, and hands +clasped and uplifted as supplicating Heaven, that Everard was obliged to remind +him that his gestures might be observed by some one, and occasion suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +The generous conduct of the King during the closing part of this remarkable +scene, had not escaped Alice’s notice; and, erasing at once from her mind +all resentment of Charles’s former conduct, and all the suspicions they +had deservedly excited, awakened in her bosom a sense of the natural goodness +of his disposition, which permitted her to unite regard for his person, with +that reverence for his high office in which she had been educated as a portion +of her creed. She felt convinced, and delighted with the conviction, that his +virtues were his own, his libertinism the fault of education, or rather want of +education, and the corrupting advice of sycophants and flatterers. She could +not know, or perhaps did not in that moment consider, that in a soil where no +care is taken to eradicate tares, they will outgrow and smother the wholesome +seed, even if the last is more natural to the soil. For, as Dr. Rochecliffe +informed her afterwards for her edification, promising, as was his custom, to +explain the precise words on some future occasion, if she would put him in +mind—<i>Virtus rectorem ducemque desiderat; Vitia sine magistro +discuntur</i>.<a href="#fn28.2" name="fnref28.2" id="fnref28.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn28.2" id="fn28.2"></a> <a href="#fnref28.2">[2]</a> +The quotations of the learned doctor and antiquary were often left +uninterpreted, though seldom incommunicated, owing to his contempt for those +who did not understand the learned languages, and his dislike to the labour of +translation, for the benefit of ladies and of country gentlemen. That fair +readers and country thanes may not on this occasion burst in ignorance, we add +the meaning of the passage in the text—“<i>Virtue requires the aid +of a governor and director; vices are learned without a teacher</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no room for such reflections at present. Conscious of mutual +sincerity, by a sort of intellectual communication, through which individuals +are led to understand each other better, perhaps, in delicate circumstances, +than by words, reserve and simulation appeared to be now banished from the +intercourse between the King and Alice. With manly frankness, and, at the same +time, with princely condescension, he requested her, exhausted as she was, to +accept of his arm on the way homeward, instead of that of Dr. Rochecliffe; and +Alice accepted of his support with modest humility, but without a shadow of +mistrust or fear. It seemed as if the last half hour had satisfied them +perfectly with the character of each other, and that each had full conviction +of the purity and sincerity of the other’s intentions. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Rochecliffe, in the meantime, had fallen some four or five paces behind; +for, less light and active than Alice, (who had, besides, the assistance of the +King’s support,) he was unable, without effort and difficulty, to keep up +with the pace of Charles, who then was, as we have elsewhere noticed, one of +the best walkers in England, and was sometimes apt to forget (as great men +will) that others were inferior to him in activity. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Alice,” said the King, but as if the epithet were entirely +fraternal, “I like your Everard much—I would to God he were of our +determination—But since that cannot be, I am sure he will prove a +generous enemy.” “May it please you, sire,” said Alice, +modestly, but with some firmness, “my cousin will never be your +Majesty’s personal enemy—and he is one of the few on whose +slightest word you may rely more than on the oath of those who profess more +strongly and formally. He is utterly incapable of abusing your Majesty’s +most generous and voluntary confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“On my honour, I believe so, Alice,” replied the King: “But +oddsfish! my girl, let Majesty sleep for the present—it concerns my +safety, as I told your brother lately—Call me sir, then, which belongs +alike to king, peer, knight, and gentleman—or rather let me be wild Louis +Kerneguy again.” Alice looked down, and shook her head. “That +cannot be, please your Majesty.” +</p> + +<p> +“What! Louis was a saucy companion—a naughty presuming +boy—and you cannot abide him?—Well, perhaps you are right—But +we will wait for Dr. Rochecliffe”—he said, desirous, with +good-natured delicacy, to make Alice aware that he had no purpose of engaging +her in any discussion which could recall painful ideas. They paused +accordingly, and again she felt relieved and grateful. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot persuade our fair friend, Mistress Alice, Doctor,” said +the King, “that she must, in prudence, forbear using titles of respect to +me, while there are such very slender means of sustaining them.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is a reproach to earth and to fortune,” answered the divine, as +fast as his recovered breath would permit him, “that your most sacred +Majesty’s present condition should not accord with the rendering of those +honours which are your own by birth, and which, with God’s blessing on +the efforts of your loyal subjects, I hope to see rendered to you as your +hereditary right, by the universal voice of the three kingdoms.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, Doctor,” replied the King; “but, in the meanwhile, can +you expound to Mistress Alice Lee two lines of Horace, which I have carried in +my thick head several years, till now they have come pat to my purpose. As my +canny subjects of Scotland say, If you keep a thing seven years you are sure to +find a use for it at last—<i>Telephus</i>—ay, so it begins— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Telephus et Peleus, cum pauper et exul uterque,<br/> +Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I will explain the passage to Mistress Alice,” said the Doctor, +“when she reminds me of it—or rather,” (he added, +recollecting that his ordinary dilatory answer on such occasions ought not to +be returned when the order for exposition emanated from his Sovereign,) +“I will repeat a poor couplet from my own translation of the poem— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Heroes and kings, in exile forced to roam.<br/> +Leave swelling phrase and seven-leagued words at home.’” +</p> + +<p> +“A most admirable version, Doctor,” said Charles; “I feel all +its force, and particularly the beautiful rendering of <i>sesquipedalia verba</i> into +seven-leagued boots—words I mean—it reminds me, like half the +things I meet with in this world, of the <i>Contes de Commère +L’Oye</i>.”<a href="#fn28.3" name="fnref28.3" id="fnref28.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn28.3" id="fn28.3"></a> <a href="#fnref28.3">[3]</a> +Tales of Mother Goose. +</p> + +<p> +Thus conversing they reached the Lodge; and as the King went to his chamber to +prepare for the breakfast summons, now impending, the idea crossed his mind, +“Wilmot, and Villiers, and Killigrew, would laugh at me, did they hear of +a campaign in which neither man nor woman had been conquered—But, +oddsfish! let them laugh as they will, there is something at my heart which +tells me, that for once in my life I have acted well.” +</p> + +<p> +That day and the next were spent in tranquillity, the King waiting impatiently +for the intelligence, which was to announce to him that a vessel was prepared +somewhere on the coast. None such was yet in readiness; but he learned that the +indefatigable Albert Lee was, at great personal risk, traversing the sea-coast +from town to village, and endeavouring to find means of embarkation among the +friends of the royal cause, and the correspondents of Dr. Rochecliffe. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch! +</p> + +<p class="left"> +T<small>WO</small> G<small>ENTLEMEN OF</small> V<small>ERONA</small>. +</p> + +<p> +At this time we should give some account of the other actors in our drama, the +interest due to the principal personages having for some time engrossed our +attention exclusively. +</p> + +<p> +We are, therefore, to inform the reader, that the lingering longings of the +Commissioners, who had been driven forth of their proposed paradise of +Woodstock, not by a cherub indeed, but, as they thought, by spirits of another +sort, still detained them in the vicinity. They had, indeed, left the little +borough under pretence of indifferent accommodation. The more palpable reasons +were, that they entertained some resentment against Everard, as the means of +their disappointment, and had no mind to reside where their proceedings could +be overlooked by him, although they took leave in terms of the utmost respect. +They went, however, no farther than Oxford, and remained there, as ravens, who +are accustomed to witness the chase, sit upon a tree or crag, at a little +distance, and watch the disembowelling of the deer, expecting the relics which +fall to their share. Meantime, the University and City, but especially the +former, supplied them with some means of employing their various faculties to +advantage, until the expected moment, when, as they hoped, they should either +be summoned to Windsor, or Woodstock should once more be abandoned to their +discretion. +</p> + +<p> +Bletson, to pass the time, vexed the souls of such learned and pious divines +and scholars, as he could intrude his hateful presence upon, by sophistry, +atheistical discourse, and challenges to them to impugn the most scandalous +theses. Desborough, one of the most brutally ignorant men of the period, got +himself nominated the head of a college, and lost no time in cutting down +trees, and plundering plate. As for Harrison, he preached in full uniform in +Saint Mary’s Church, wearing his buff-coat, boots, and spurs, as if he +were about to take the field for the fight at Armageddon. And it was hard to +say, whether the seat of Learning, Religion, and Loyalty, as it is called by +Clarendon, was more vexed by the rapine of Desborough, the cold scepticism of +Bletson, or the frantic enthusiasm of the Fifth-Monarchy Champion. +</p> + +<p> +Ever and anon, soldiers, under pretence of relieving guard, or otherwise, went +and came betwixt Woodstock and Oxford, and maintained, it may be supposed, a +correspondence with Trusty Tomkins, who, though he chiefly resided in the town +of Woodstock, visited the Lodge occasionally, and to whom, therefore, they +doubtless trusted for information concerning the proceedings there. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, this man Tomkins seemed by some secret means to have gained the +confidence in part, if not in whole, of almost every one connected with these +intrigues. All closeted him, all conversed with him in private; those who had +the means propitiated him with gifts, those who had not were liberal of +promises. When he chanced to appear at Woodstock, which always seemed as it +were by accident—if he passed through the hall, the knight was sure to +ask him to take the foils, and was equally certain to be, after less or more +resistance, victorious in the encounter; so, in consideration of so many +triumphs, the good Sir Henry almost forgave him the sins of rebellion and +puritanism. Then, if his slow and formal step was heard in the passages +approaching the gallery, Dr. Rochecliffe, though he never introduced him to his +peculiar boudoir, was sure to meet Master Tomkins in some neutral apartment, +and to engage him in long conversations, which apparently had great interest +for both. +</p> + +<p> +Neither was the Independent’s reception below stairs less gracious than +above. Joceline failed not to welcome him with the most cordial frankness; the +pasty and the flagon were put in immediate requisition, and good cheer was the +general word. The means for this, it may be observed, had grown more plenty at +Woodstock since the arrival of Dr. Rochecliffe, who, in quality of agent for +several royalists, had various sums of money at his disposal. By these funds it +is likely that Trusty Tomkins also derived his own full advantage. +</p> + +<p> +In his occasional indulgence in what he called a fleshly frailty, (and for +which he said he had a privilege,) which was in truth an attachment to strong +liquors, and that in no moderate degree, his language, at other times +remarkably decorous and reserved, became wild and animated. He sometimes talked +with all the unction of an old debauchee, of former exploits, such as +deer-stealing, orchard-robbing, drunken gambols, and desperate affrays in which +he had been engaged in the earlier part of his life, sung bacchanalian and +amorous ditties, dwelt sometimes upon adventures which drove Phœbe Mayflower +from the company, and penetrated even the deaf ears of Dame Jellicot, so as to +make the buttery in which he held his carousals no proper place for the poor +old woman. +</p> + +<p> +In the middle of these wild rants, Tomkins twice or thrice suddenly ran into +religious topics, and spoke mysteriously, but with great animation, and a rich +eloquence, on the happy and pre-eminent saints, who were saints, as he termed +them, indeed—Men who had stormed the inner treasure-house of Heaven, and +possessed themselves of its choicest jewels. All other sects he treated with +the utmost contempt, as merely quarrelling, as he expressed it, like hogs over +a trough about husks and acorns; under which derogatory terms, he included +alike the usual rites and ceremonies of public devotion, the ordinances of the +established churches of Christianity, and the observances, nay, the +forbearances, enjoined by every class of Christians. Scarcely hearing, and not +at all understanding him, Joceline, who seemed his most frequent confidant on +such occasions, generally led him back into some strain of rude mirth, or old +recollection of follies before the Civil Wars, without caring about or +endeavouring to analyze the opinion of this saint of an evil fashion, but fully +sensible of the protection which his presence afforded at Woodstock, and +confident in the honest meaning of so freespoken a fellow, to whom ale and +brandy, when better liquor was not to be come by, seemed to be principal +objects of life, and who drank a health to the King, or any one else, whenever +required, provided the cup in which he was to perform the libation were but a +brimmer. +</p> + +<p> +These peculiar doctrines, which were entertained by a sect sometimes termed the +Family of Love, but more commonly Ranters, had made some progress in times when +such variety of religious opinions were prevalent, that men pushed the jarring +heresies to the verge of absolute and most impious insanity. Secrecy had been +enjoined on these frantic believers in a most blasphemous doctrine, by the fear +of consequences, should they come to be generally announced; and it was the +care of Master Tomkins to conceal the spiritual freedom which he pretended to +have acquired, from all whose resentment would have been stirred by his public +avowal of them. This was not difficult; for their profession of faith +permitted, nay, required their occasional conformity with the sectaries or +professors of any creed which chanced to be uppermost. +</p> + +<p> +Tomkins had accordingly the art to pass himself on Dr. Rochecliffe as still a +zealous member of the Church of England, though serving under the enemy’s +colours, as a spy in their camp; and as he had on several times given him true +and valuable intelligence, this active intriguer was the more easily induced to +believe his professions. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, lest this person’s occasional presence at the Lodge, which +there were perhaps no means to prevent without exciting suspicion, should infer +danger to the King’s person, Rochecliffe, whatever confidence he +otherwise reposed in him, recommended that, if possible, the King should keep +always out of his sight, and when accidentally discovered, that he should only +appear in the character of Louis Kerneguy. Joseph Tomkins, he said, was, he +really believed, Honest Joe; but honesty was a horse which might be +overburdened, and there was no use in leading our neighbour into temptation. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed as if Tomkins himself had acquiesced in this limitation of confidence +exercised towards him, or that he wished to seem blinder than he really was to +the presence of this stranger in the family. It occurred to Joceline, who was a +very shrewd fellow, that once or twice, when by inevitable accident Tomkins had +met Kerneguy, he seemed less interested in the circumstance than he would have +expected from the man’s disposition, which was naturally prying and +inquisitive. “He asked no questions about the young stranger,” said +Joceline—“God avert that he knows or suspects too much!” But +his suspicions were removed, when, in the course of their subsequent +conversation, Joseph Tomkins mentioned the King’s escape from Bristol as +a thing positively certain, and named both the vessel in which, he said, he had +gone off, and the master who commanded her, seeming so convinced of the truth +of the report, that Joceline judged it impossible he could have the slightest +suspicion of the reality. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, notwithstanding this persuasion, and the comradeship which had been +established between them, the faithful under-keeper resolved to maintain a +strict watch over his gossip Tomkins, and be in readiness to give the alarm +should occasion arise. True, he thought, he had reason to believe that his said +friend, notwithstanding his drunken and enthusiastic rants, was as trustworthy +as he was esteemed by Dr. Rochecliffe; yet still he was an adventurer, the +outside and lining of whose cloak were of different colours, and a high reward, +and pardon for past acts of malignancy, might tempt him once more to turn his +tippet. For these reasons Joceline kept a strict, though unostentatious watch +over Trusty Tomkins. +</p> + +<p> +We have said, that the discreet seneschal was universally well received at +Woodstock, whether in the borough or at the Lodge, and that even Joceline +Joliffe was anxious to conceal any suspicions which he could not altogether +repress, under a great show of cordial hospitality. There were, however, two +individuals, who, for very different reasons, nourished personal dislike +against the individual so generally acceptable. +</p> + +<p> +One was Nehemiah Holdenough, who remembered, with great bitterness of spirit, +the Independent’s violent intrusion into his pulpit, and who ever spoke +of him in private as a lying missionary, into whom Satan had put a spirit of +delusion; and preached, besides, a solemn sermon on the subject of the false +prophet, out of whose mouth came frogs. The discourse was highly prized by the +Mayor and most of the better class, who conceived that their minister had +struck a heavy blow at the very root of Independency. On the other hand, those +of the private spirit contended, that Joseph Tomkins had made a successful and +triumphant rally, in an exhortation on the evening of the same day, in which he +proved, to the conviction of many handicraftsmen, that the passage in Jeremiah, +“The prophets prophesy falsely, and the priests bare rule by their +means,” was directly applicable to the Presbyterian system of church +government. The clergyman dispatched an account of his adversary’s +conduct to the Reverend Master Edwards, to be inserted in the next edition of +Gangraena, as a pestilent heretic; and Tomkins recommended the parson to his +master, Desborough, as a good subject on whom to impose a round fine, for +vexing the private spirit; assuring him, at the same time, that though the +minister might seem poor, yet if a few troopers were quartered on him till the +fine was paid, every rich shopkeeper’s wife in the borough would rob the +till, rather than go without the mammon of unrighteousness with which to redeem +their priest from sufferance; holding, according to his expression, with Laban, +“You have taken from me my gods, and what have I more?” There was, +of course, little cordiality between the polemical disputants, when religious +debate took so worldly a turn. +</p> + +<p> +But Joe Tomkins was much more concerned at the evil opinion which seemed to be +entertained against him, by one whose good graces he was greatly more desirous +to obtain than those of Nehemiah Holdenough. This was no other than pretty +Mistress Phœbe Mayflower, for whose conversion he had felt a strong vocation, +ever since his lecture upon Shakspeare on their first meeting at the Lodge. He +seemed desirous, however, to carry on this more serious work in private, and +especially to conceal his labours from his friend Joceline Joliffe, lest, +perchance, he had been addicted to jealousy. But it was in vain that he plied +the faithful damsel, sometimes with verses from the Canticles, sometimes with +quotations from Green’s Arcadia, or pithy passages from Venus and Adonis, +and doctrines of a nature yet more abstruse, from the popular work entitled +Aristotle’s Masterpiece. Unto no wooing of his, sacred or profane, +metaphysical or physical, would Phœbe Mayflower seriously incline. +</p> + +<p> +The maiden loved Joceline Joliffe, on the one hand; and, on the other, if she +disliked Joseph Tomkins when she first saw him, as a rebellious puritan, she +had not been at all reconciled by finding reason to regard him as a +hypocritical libertine. She hated him in both capacities—never endured +his conversation when she could escape from it—and when obliged to +remain, listened to him only because she knew he had been so deeply trusted, +that to offend him might endanger the security of the family, in the service of +which she had been born and bred up, and to whose interest she was devoted. For +reasons somewhat similar, she did not suffer her dislike of the steward to +become manifest before Joceline Joliffe, whose spirit, as a forester and a +soldier, might have been likely to bring matters to an arbitrement, in which +the <i>couteau de chasse</i> and quarterstaff of her favourite, would have been +too unequally matched with the long rapier and pistols which his dangerous +rival always carried about his person. But it is difficult to blind +jealousy— when there is any cause of doubt; and perhaps the sharp watch +maintained by Joceline on his comrade, was prompted not only by his zeal for +the King’s safety, but by some vague suspicion that Tomkins was not ill +disposed to poach upon his own fair manor. +</p> + +<p> +Phœbe, in the meanwhile, like a prudent girl, sheltered herself as much as +possible by the presence of Goody Jellicot. Then, indeed, it is true the +Independent, or whatever he was, used to follow her with his addresses to very +little purpose; for Phœbe seemed as deaf, through wilfulness, as the old +matron by natural infirmity. This indifference highly incensed her new lover, +and induced him anxiously to watch for a time and place, in which he might +plead his suit with an energy that should command attention. Fortune, that +malicious goddess, who so often ruins us by granting the very object of our +vows, did at length procure him such an opportunity as he had long coveted. +</p> + +<p> +It was about sunset, or shortly after, when Phœbe, upon whose activity much of +the domestic arrangements depended, went as far as fair Rosamond’s spring +to obtain water for the evening meal, or rather to gratify the prejudice of the +old knight, who believed that celebrated fountain afforded the choicest +supplies of the necessary element. Such was the respect in which he was held by +his whole family, that to neglect any of his wishes that could be gratified, +though with inconvenience to themselves, would, in their estimation, have been +almost equal to a breach of religious duty. +</p> + +<p> +To fill the pitcher had, we know, been of late a troublesome task; but +Joceline’s ingenuity had so far rendered it easy, by repairing rudely a +part of the ruined front of the ancient fountain, that the water was collected, +and trickling along a wooden spout, dropped from a height of about two feet. A +damsel was thereby enabled to place her pitcher under the slowly dropping +supply, and, without toil to herself, might wait till her vessel was filled. +</p> + +<p> +Phœbe Mayflower, on the evening we allude to, saw, for the first time, this +little improvement; and, justly considering it as a piece of gallantry of her +silvan admirer, designed to save her the trouble of performing her task in a +more inconvenient manner, she gratefully employed the minutes of ease which the +contrivance procured her, in reflecting on the good-nature and ingenuity of the +obliging engineer, and perhaps in thinking he might have done as wisely to have +waited till she came to the fountain, that he might have secured personal +thanks for the trouble he had taken. But then she knew he was detained in the +buttery with that odious Tomkins, and rather than have seen the Independent +along with him, she would have renounced the thought of meeting Joceline. +</p> + +<p> +As she was thus reflecting, Fortune was malicious enough to send Tomkins to the +fountain, and without Joceline. When she saw his figure darken the path up +which he came, an anxious reflection came over the poor maiden’s breast, +that she was alone, and within the verge of the forest, where in general +persons were prohibited to come during the twilight, for fear of disturbing the +deer settling to their repose. She encouraged herself, however, and resolved to +show no sense of fear, although, as the steward approached, there was something +in the man’s look and eye no way calculated to allay her apprehensions. +</p> + +<p> +“The blessings of the evening upon you, my pretty maiden,” he said. +“I meet you even as the chief servant of Abraham, who was a steward like +myself, met Rebecca, the daughter of Bethuel, the son of Milcah, at the well of +the city of Nahor, in Mesopotamia. Shall I not, therefore, say to you, set down +thy pitcher that I may drink?” +</p> + +<p> +“The pitcher is at your service, Master Tomkins,” she replied, +“and you may drink as much as you will; but you have, I warrant, drank +better liquor, and that not long since.” +</p> + +<p> +It was, indeed, obvious that the steward had arisen from a revel, for his +features were somewhat flushed, though he had stopped far short of +intoxication. But Phœbe’s alarm at his first appearance was rather +increased when she observed how he had been lately employed. +</p> + +<p> +“I do but use my privilege, my pretty Rebecca; the earth is given to the +saints, and the fulness thereof. They shall occupy and enjoy it, both the +riches of the mine, and the treasures of the vine; and they shall rejoice, and +their hearts be merry within them. Thou hast yet to learn the privileges of the +saints, my Rebecca.” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Phœbe,” said the maiden, in order to sober the +enthusiastic rapture which he either felt or affected. +</p> + +<p> +“Phœbe after the flesh,” he said, “but Rebecca being +spiritualised; for art thou not a wandering and stray sheep?—and am I not +sent to fetch thee within the fold?—Wherefore else was it said, Thou +shalt find her seated by the well, in the wood which is called after the +ancient harlot, Rosamond?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have found me sitting here sure enough,” said Phœbe; +“but if you wish to keep me company, you must walk to the Lodge with me; +and you shall carry my pitcher for me, if you will be so kind. I will hear all +the good things you have to say to me as we go along. But Sir Henry calls for +his glass of water regularly before prayers.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” exclaimed Tomkins, “hath the old man of bloody hand +and perverse heart sent thee hither to do the work of a bondswoman? Verily thou +shalt return enfranchised; and for the water thou hast drawn for him, it shall +be poured forth, even as David caused to be poured forth the water of the well +of Bethlehem.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he emptied the water pitcher, in spite of Phœbe’s +exclamations and entreaties. He then replaced the vessel beneath the little +conduit, and continued:—“Know that this shall be a token to thee. +The filling of that pitcher shall be like the running of a sand-glass; and if +within the time which shall pass ere it rises to the brim, thou shalt listen to +the words which I shall say to thee, then it shall be well with thee, and thy +place shall be high among those who, forsaking the instruction which is as milk +for babes and sucklings, eat the strong food which nourishes manhood. But if +the pitcher shall overbrim with water ere thy ear shall hear and understand, +thou shalt then be given as a prey, and as a bondsmaiden, unto those who shall +possess the fat and the fair of the earth.” +</p> + +<p> +“You frighten me, Master Tomkins,” said Phœbe, “though I am +sure you do not mean to do so. I wonder how you dare speak words so like the +good words in the Bible, when you know how you laughed at your own master, and +all the rest of them—when you helped to play the hobgoblins at the +Lodge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think’st thou then, thou simple fool, that in putting that deceit +upon Harrison and the rest, I exceeded my privileges?—Nay, +verily.—Listen to me, foolish girl. When in former days I lived the most +wild, malignant rakehell in Oxfordshire, frequenting wakes and fairs, dancing +around May-poles, and showing my lustihood at football and +cudgel-playing—Yea, when I was called, in the language of the +uncircumcised, Philip Hazeldine, and was one of the singers in the choir, and +one of the ringers in the steeple, and served the priest yonder, by name +Rochecliffe, I was not farther from the straight road than when, after long +reading, I at length found one blind guide after another, all burners of bricks +in Egypt. I left them one by one, the poor tool Harrison being the last; and by +my own unassisted strength, I have struggled forward to the broad and blessed +light, whereof thou too, Phœbe, shalt be partaker.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, Master Tomkins,” said Phœbe, suppressing some fear +under an appearance of indifference; “but I shall have light enough to +carry home my pitcher, would you but let me take it; and that is all the want +of light I shall have this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, she stooped to take the pitcher from the fountain; but he snatched +hold of her by the arm, and prevented her from accomplishing her purpose. +Phœbe, however, was the daughter of a bold forester, prompt at thoughts of +self-defence; and though she missed getting hold of the pitcher, she caught up +instead a large pebble, which she kept concealed in her right hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Stand up, foolish maiden, and listen,” said the Independent, +sternly; “and know, in one word, that sin, for which the spirit of man is +punished with the vengeance of Heaven, lieth not in the corporal act, but in +the thought of the sinner. Believe, lovely Phœbe, that to the pure all acts +are pure, and that sin is in our thought, not in our actions—even as the +radiance of the day is dark to a blind man, but seen and enjoyed by him whose +eyes receive it. To him who is but a novice in the things of the spirit, much +is enjoined, much is prohibited; and he is fed with milk fit for +babes—for him are ordinances, prohibitions, and commands. But the saint +is above these ordinances and restraints.—To him, as to the chosen child +of the house, is given the pass-key to open all locks which withhold him from +the enjoyment of his heart’s desire. Into such pleasant paths will I +guide thee, lovely Phœbe, as shall unite in joy, in innocent freedom, +pleasures, which, to the unprivileged, are sinful and prohibited.” +“I really wish, Master Tomkins, you would let me go home.” said +Phœbe, not comprehending the nature of his doctrine, but disliking at once his +words and his manner. He went on, however, with the accursed and blasphemous +doctrines, which, in common with others of the pretended saints, he had +adopted, after having long shifted from one sect to another, until he settled +in the vile belief, that sin, being of a character exclusively spiritual, only +existed in the thoughts, and that the worst actions were permitted to those who +had attained to the pitch of believing themselves above ordinance. “Thus, +my Phœbe,” he continued, endeavouring to draw her towards him “I +can offer thee more than ever was held out to woman since Adam first took his +bride by the hand. It shall be for others to stand dry-lipped, doing penance, +like papists, by abstinence, when the vessel of pleasure pours forth its +delights. Dost thou love money?—I have it, and can procure more—am +at liberty to procure it on every hand, and by every means—the earth is +mine and its fulness. Do you desire power?—which of these poor cheated +commissioner-fellows’ estates dost thou covet, I will work it out for +thee; for I deal with a mightier spirit than any of them. And it is not without +warrant that I have aided the malignant Rochecliffe, and the clown Joliffe, to +frighten and baffle them in the guise they did. Ask what thou wilt, Phœbe, I +can give, or I can procure it for thee—Then enter with me into a life of +delight in this world, which shall prove but an anticipation of the joys of +Paradise hereafter!” +</p> + +<p> +Again the fanatical voluptuary endeavoured to pull the poor girl towards him, +while she, alarmed, but not scared out of her presence of mind, endeavoured, by +fair entreaty, to prevail on him to release her. But his features, in +themselves not marked, had acquired a frightful expression, and he exclaimed, +“No, Phœbe—do not think to escape—thou art given to me as a +captive—thou hast neglected the hour of grace, and it has glided +past—See, the water trickles over thy pitcher, which was to be a sign +between us—Therefore I will urge thee no more with words, of which thou +art not worthy, but treat thee as a recusant of offered grace.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Tomkins,” said Phœbe, in an imploring tone, +“consider, for God’s sake, I am a fatherless child—do me no +injury, it would be a shame to your strength and your manhood—I cannot +understand your fine words—I will think on them till to-morrow.” +Then, in rising resentment, she added more vehemently—“I will not +be used rudely—stand off, or I will do you a mischief.” But, as he +pressed upon her with a violence, of which the object could not be mistaken, +and endeavoured to secure her right hand, she exclaimed, “Take it then, +with a wanion to you!”—and struck him an almost stunning blow on +the face, with the pebble which she held ready for such an extremity. +</p> + +<p> +The fanatic let her go, and staggered backward, half stupified; while Phœbe +instantly betook herself to flight, screaming for help as she ran, but still +grasping the victorious pebble. Irritated to frenzy by the severe blow which he +had received, Tomkins pursued, with every black passion in his soul and in his +face, mingled with fear least his villany should be discovered. He called on +Phœbe loudly to stop, and had the brutality to menace her with one of his +pistols if she continued to fly. Yet she slacked not her pace for his threats, +and he must either have executed them, or seen her escape to carry the tale to +the Lodge, had she not unhappily stumbled over the projecting root of a +fir-tree. But as he rushed upon his prey, rescue interposed in the person of +Joceline Joliffe, with his quarterstaff on his shoulder. “How now? what +means this?” he said, stepping between Phœbe and her pursuer. Tomkins, +already roused to fury, made no other answer than by discharging at Joceline +the pistol which he held in his hand. The ball grazed the under keeper’s +face, who, in requital of the assault, and saying “Aha! Let ash answer +iron,” applied his quarterstaff with so much force to the +Independent’s head, that lighting on the left temple, the blow proved +almost instantly mortal. +</p> + +<p> +A few convulsive struggles were accompanied with these broken words,— +“Joceline—I am gone—but I forgive thee—Doctor +Rochecliffe—I wish I had minded more—Oh!—the +clergyman—the funeral service”—As he uttered these words, +indicative, it may be, of his return to a creed, which perhaps he had never +abjured so thoroughly as he had persuaded himself, his voice was lost in a +groan, which, rattling in the throat, seemed unable to find its way to the air. +These were the last symptoms of life: the clenched hands presently +relaxed—the closed eyes opened, and stared on the heavens a lifeless +jelly—the limbs extended themselves and stiffened. The body, which was +lately animated with life, was now a lump of senseless clay—the soul, +dismissed from its earthly tenement in a moment so unhallowed, was gone before +the judgment-seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what have you done?—what have you done, Joceline!” +exclaimed Phœbe; “you have killed the man!” +</p> + +<p> +“Better than he should have killed me,” answered Joceline; +“for he was none of the blinkers that miss their mark twice +running.—And yet I am sorry for him.—Many a merry bout have we had +together when he was wild Philip Hazeldine, and then he was bad enough; but +since he daubed over his vices with hypocrisy, he seems to have proved worse +devil than ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Joceline, come away,” said poor Phœbe, “and do not +stand gazing on him thus;” for the woodsman, resting on his fatal weapon, +stood looking down on the corpse with the appearance of a man half stunned at +the event. +</p> + +<p> +“This comes of the ale pitcher,” she continued, in the true style +of female consolation, “as I have often told you—For Heaven’s +sake, come to the Lodge, and let us consult what is to be done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay first, girl, and let me drag him out of the path; we must not have +him lie herein all men’s sight—Will you not help me, wench?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot, Joceline—I would not touch a lock on him for all +Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must to this gear myself, then,” said Joceline, who, a soldier +as well as a woodsman, still had great reluctance to the necessary task. +Something in the face and broken words of the dying man had made a deep and +terrific impression on nerves not easily shaken. He accomplished it, however, +so far as to drag the late steward out of the open path, and bestow his body +amongst the undergrowth of brambles and briers, so as not to be visible unless +particularly looked for. He then returned to Phœbe, who had sate speechless +all the while beneath the tree over whose roots she had stumbled. +</p> + +<p> +“Come away, wench,” he said, “come away to the Lodge, and let +us study how this is to be answered for—the mishap of his being killed +will strangely increase our danger. What had he sought of thee, wench, when you +ran from him like a madwoman?—But I can guess—Phil was always a +devil among the girls, and I think, as Doctor Rochecliffe says, that, since he +turned saint, he took to himself seven devils worse than himself.—Here is +the very place where I saw him, with his sword in his hand raised against the +old knight, and he a child of the parish—it was high treason at +least—but, by my faith, he hath paid for it at last.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, oh, Joceline,” said Phœbe, “how could you take so +wicked a man into your counsels, and join him in all his plots about scaring +the roundhead gentlemen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why look thee, wench, I thought I knew him at the first meeting +especially when Bevis, who was bred here when he was a dog-leader, would not +fly at him; and when we made up our old acquaintance at the Lodge, I found he +kept up a close correspondence with Doctor Rochecliffe, who was persuaded that +he was a good King’s man, and held consequently good intelligence with +him.—The doctor boasts to have learned much through his means; I wish to +Heaven he may not have been as communicative in turn.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Joceline,” said the waiting-woman, “you should never +have let him within the gate of the Lodge!” +</p> + +<p> +“No more I would, if I had known how to keep him out; but when he went so +frankly into our scheme, and told me how I was to dress myself like Robinson +the player, whose ghost haunted Harrison—I wish no ghost may haunt +me!—when he taught me how to bear myself to terrify his lawful master, +what could I think, wench? I only trust the Doctor has kept the great secret of +all from his knowledge.—But here we are at the Lodge. Go to thy chamber, +wench, and compose thyself. I must seek out Doctor Rochecliffe; he is ever +talking of his quick and ready invention. Here come times, I think, that will +demand it all.” +</p> + +<p> +Phœbe went to her chamber accordingly; but the strength arising from the +pressure of danger giving way when the danger was removed, she quickly fell +into a succession of hysterical fits, which required the constant attention of +Dame Jellicot, and the less alarmed, but more judicious care of Mistress Alice, +before they even abated in their rapid recurrence. +</p> + +<p> +The under-keeper carried his news to the politic Doctor, who was extremely +disconcerted, alarmed, nay angry with Joceline, for having slain a person on +whose communications he had accustomed himself to rely. Yet his looks declared +his suspicion, whether his confidence had not been too rashly conferred—a +suspicion which pressed him the more anxiously, that he was unwilling to avow +it, as a derogation from his character for shrewdness, on which he valued +himself. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Rochecliffe’s reliance, however, on the fidelity of Tomkins, had +apparently good grounds. Before the Civil Wars, as may be partly collected from +what has been already hinted at, Tomkins, under his true name of Hazeldine, had +been under the protection of the Rector of Woodstock, occasionally acted as his +clerk, was a distinguished member of his choir, and, being a handy and +ingenious fellow, was employed in assisting the antiquarian researches of Dr. +Rochecliffe through the interior of Woodstock. When he engaged in the opposite +side in the Civil Wars, he still kept up his intelligence with the divine, to +whom he had afforded what seemed valuable information from time to time. His +assistance had latterly been eminently useful in aiding the Doctor, with the +assistance of Joceline and Phœbe, in contriving and executing the various +devices by which the Parliamentary Commissioners had been expelled from +Woodstock. Indeed, his services in this respect had been thought worthy of no +less a reward than a present of what plate remained at the Lodge, which had +been promised to the Independent accordingly. The Doctor, therefore, while +admitting he might be a bad man, regretted him as a useful one, whose death, if +enquired after, was likely to bring additional danger on a house which danger +already surrounded, and which contained a pledge so precious. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +<i>Cassio</i>. That thrust had been my enemy indeed,<br/> +But that my coat is better than thou know’st. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +O<small>THELLO</small>. +</p> + +<p> +On the dark October night succeeding the evening on which Tomkins was slain, +Colonel Everard, besides his constant attendant Roger Wildrake, had Master +Nehemiah Holdenough with him as a guest at supper. The devotions of the evening +having been performed according to the Presbyterian fashion, a light +entertainment, and a double quart of burnt claret, were placed before his +friends at nine o’clock, an hour unusually late. Master Holdenough soon +engaged himself in a polemical discourse against Sectaries and Independents, +without being aware that his eloquence was not very interesting to his +principal hearer, whose ideas in the meanwhile wandered to Woodstock and all +which it contained—the Prince, who lay concealed there—his +uncle—above all, Alice Lee. As for Wildrake, after bestowing a mental +curse both on Sectaries and Presbyterians, as being, in his opinion, never a +barrel the better herring, he stretched out his limbs, and would probably have +composed himself to rest, but that he as well as his patron had thoughts which +murdered sleep. +</p> + +<p> +The party were waited upon by a little gipsy-looking boy, in an orange-tawny +doublet, much decayed, and garnished with blue worsted lace. The rogue looked +somewhat stinted in size, but active both in intelligence and in limb, as his +black eyes seemed to promise by their vivacity. He was an attendant of +Wildrake’s choice, who had conferred on him the <i>nom de guerre</i> of +Spitfire, and had promised him promotion so soon as his young protegé, +Breakfast, was fit to succeed him in his present office. It need scarce be said +that the manege was maintained entirely at the expense of Colonel Everard, who +allowed Wildrake to arrange the household very much according to his pleasure. +The page did not omit, in offering the company wine from time to time, to +accommodate Wildrake with about twice the number of opportunities of refreshing +himself which he considered it necessary to afford to the Colonel or his +reverend guest. +</p> + +<p> +While they were thus engaged, the good divine lost in his own argument, and the +hearers in their private thoughts, their attention was about half-past ten +arrested by a knocking at the door of the house. To those who have anxious +hearts, trifles give cause of alarm. +</p> + +<p> +Even a thing so simple as a knock at the door may have a character which +excites apprehension. This was no quiet gentle tap, intimating a modest +intruder; no redoubled rattle, as the pompous annunciation of some vain person; +neither did it resemble the formal summons to formal business, nor the cheerful +visit of some welcome friend. It was a single blow, solemn and stern, if not +actually menacing in the sound. The door was opened by some of the persons of +the house; a heavy foot ascended the stair, a stout man entered the room, and +drawing the cloak from his face, said, “Markham Everard, I greet thee in +God’s name.” +</p> + +<p> +It was General Cromwell. +</p> + +<p> +Everard, surprised and taken at unawares, endeavoured in vain to find words to +express his astonishment. A bustle occurred in receiving the General, assisting +him to uncloak himself, and offering in dumb show the civilities of reception. +The General cast his keen eye around the apartment, and fixing it first on the +divine, addressed Everard as follows: “A reverend man I see is with thee. +Thou art not one of those, good Markham, who let the time unnoted and +unimproved pass away. Casting aside the things of this world—pressing +forward to those of the next—it is by thus using our time in this poor +seat of terrestrial sin and care, that we may, as it were—But how is +this?” he continued, suddenly changing his tone, and speaking briefly, +sharply, and anxiously; “one hath left the room since I entered?” +</p> + +<p> +Wildrake had, indeed, been absent for a minute or two, but had now returned, +and stepped forward from a bay window, as if he had been out of sight only, not +out of the apartment. “Not so, sir; I stood but in the background out of +respect. Noble General, I hope all is well with the Estate, that your +Excellency makes us so late a visit? Would not your Excellency choose +some”— +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Oliver, looking sternly and fixedly at +him—“Our trusty Go-between—our faithful confidant.—No, +sir; at present I desire nothing more than a kind reception, which, methinks, +my friend Markham Everard is in no hurry to give me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You bring your own welcome, my lord,” said Everard, compelling +himself to speak. “I can only trust it was no bad news that made your +Excellency a late traveller, and ask, like my follower, what refreshment I +shall command for your accommodation.” +</p> + +<p> +“The state is sound and healthy, Colonel Everard,” said the +General; “and yet the less so, that many of its members, who have been +hitherto workers together, and propounders of good counsel, and advancers of +the public weal, have now waxed cold in their love and in their affection for +the Good Cause, for which we should be ready, in our various degrees, to act +and do so soon as we are called to act that whereunto we are appointed, neither +rashly nor over-slothfully, neither lukewarmly nor over-violently, but with +such a frame and disposition, in which zeal and charity may, as it were, meet +and kiss each other in our streets. Howbeit, because we look back after we have +put our hand to the plough, therefore is our force waxed dim.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, sir,” said Nehemiah Holdenough, who, listening with +some impatience, began to guess in whose company he stood—“Pardon +me, for unto this I have a warrant to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! ah!” said Cromwell. “Surely, most worthy sir, we grieve +the Spirit when we restrain those pourings forth, which, like water from a +rock”— +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, therein I differ from you, sir,” said Holdenough; “for +as there is the mouth to transmit the food, and the profit to digest what +Heaven hath sent; so is the preacher ordained to teach and the people to hear; +the shepherd to gather the flock into the sheepfold, the sheep to profit by the +care of the shepherd.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! my worthy sir,” said Cromwell, with much unction, +“methinks you verge upon the great mistake, which supposes that churches +are tall large houses built by masons, and hearers are men—wealthy men, +who pay tithes, the larger as well as the less; and that the priests, men in +black gowns or grey cloaks, who receive the same, are in guerdon the only +distributors of Christian blessings; whereas, in my apprehension, there is more +of Christian liberty in leaving it to the discretion of the hungry soul to seek +his edification where it can be found, whether from the mouth of a lay teacher, +who claimeth his warrant from Heaven alone, or at the dispensation of those who +take ordinations and degrees from synods and universities, at best but +associations of poor sinful creatures like themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak you know not what, sir,” replied Holdenough, +impatiently. “Can light come out of darkness, sense out of ignorance, or +knowledge of the mysteries of religion from such ignorant mediciners as give +poisons instead of wholesome medicaments, and cram with filth the stomachs of +such as seek to them for food?” This, which the Presbyterian divine +uttered rather warmly, the General answered with the utmost mildness. +</p> + +<p> +“Lack-a-day, lack-a-day! a learned man, but intemperate; over-zeal hath +eaten him up.—A well-a-day, sir, you may talk of your regular +gospel-meals, but a word spoken in season by one whose heart is with your +heart, just perhaps when you are riding on to encounter an enemy, or are about +to mount a breach, is to the poor spirit like a rasher on the coals, which the +hungry shall find preferable to a great banquet, at such times when the full +soul loatheth the honey-comb. Nevertheless, although I speak thus in my poor +judgment, I would not put force on the conscience of any man, leaving to the +learned to follow the learned, and the wise to be instructed by the wise, while +poor simple wretched souls are not to be denied a drink from the stream which +runneth by the way.—Ay, verily, it will be a comely sight in England when +men shall go on as in a better world, bearing with each other’s +infirmities, joining in each other’s comforts.—Ay, truly, the rich +drink out of silver flagons, and goblets of silver, the poor out of paltry +bowls of wood—and even so let it be, since they both drink the same +element.” +</p> + +<p> +Here an officer opened the door and looked in, to whom Cromwell, exchanging the +canting drawl, in which it seemed he might have gone on interminably, for the +short brief tone of action, called out, “Pearson, is he come?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” replied Pearson; “we have enquired for him at the +place you noted, and also at other haunts of his about the town.” +</p> + +<p> +“The knave!” said Cromwell, with bitter emphasis; “can he +have proved false?—No, no, his interest is too deeply engaged. We shall +find him by and by. Hark thee hither.” +</p> + +<p> +While this conversation was going forward, the reader must imagine the alarm of +Everard. He was certain that the personal attendance of Cromwell must be on +some most important account, and he could not but strongly suspect that the +General had some information respecting Charles’s lurking place. If +taken, a renewal of the tragedy of the 30th of January was instantly to be +apprehended, and the ruin of the whole family of Lee, with himself probably +included, must be the necessary consequence. +</p> + +<p> +He looked eagerly for consolation at Wildrake, whose countenance expressed much +alarm, which he endeavoured to bear out with his usual look of confidence. But +the weight within was too great; he shuffled with his feet, rolled his eyes, +and twisted his hands, like an unassured witness before an acute and not to be +deceived judge. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver, meanwhile, left his company not a minute’s leisure to take +counsel together. Even while his perplexed eloquence flowed on in a stream so +mazy that no one could discover which way its course was tending, his sharp +watchful eye rendered all attempts of Everard to hold communication with +Wildrake, even by signs, altogether vain. Everard, indeed, looked for an +instant at the window, then glanced at Wildrake, as if to hint there might be a +possibility to escape that way. But the cavalier had replied with a +disconsolate shake of the head, so slight as to be almost imperceptible. +Everard, therefore, lost all hope, and the melancholy feeling of approaching +and inevitable evil, was only varied by anxiety concerning the shape and manner +in which it was about to make its approach. +</p> + +<p> +But Wildrake had a spark of hope left. The very instant Cromwell entered he had +got out of the room, and down to the door of the house. “Back— +back!” repeated by two armed sentinels, convinced him that, as his fears +had anticipated, the General had come neither unattended nor unprepared. He +turned on his heel, ran up stairs, and meeting on the landing-place the boy +whom he called Spitfire, hurried him into the small apartment which he occupied +as his own. Wildrake had been shooting that morning, and game lay on the table. +He pulled a feather from a woodcock’s wing, and saying hastily, +“For thy life, Spitfire, mind my orders—I will put thee safe out at +the window into the court—the yard wall is not high—and there will +be no sentry there—Fly to the Lodge, as thou wouldst win Heaven, and give +this feather to Mistress Alice Lee, if possible—if not, to Joceline +Joliffe—say I have won the wages of the young lady. Dost mark me, +boy?” +</p> + +<p> +The sharp-witted youth clapped his hand in his master’s, and only +replied, “Done, and done.” +</p> + +<p> +Wildrake opened the window, and, though the height was considerable, he +contrived to let the boy down safely by holding his cloak. A heap of straw on +which Spitfire lighted rendered the descent perfectly safe, and Wildrake saw +him scramble over the wall of the court-yard, at the angle which bore on a back +lane; and so rapidly was this accomplished, that the cavalier had just +re-entered the room, when, the bustle attending Cromwell’s arrival +subsiding, his own absence began to be noticed. +</p> + +<p> +He remained during Cromwell’s lecture on the vanity of creeds, anxious in +mind whether he might not have done better to send an explicit verbal message, +since there was no time to write. But the chance of the boy being stopped, or +becoming confused with feeling himself the messenger of a hurried and important +communication, made him, on the whole, glad that he had preferred a more +enigmatical way of conveying the intelligence. He had, therefore, the advantage +of his patron, for he was conscious still of a spark of hope. +</p> + +<p> +Pearson had scarce shut the door, when Holdenough, as ready in arms against the +future Dictator as he had been prompt to encounter the supposed phantoms and +fiends of Woodstock, resumed his attack upon the schismatics, whom he undertook +to prove to be at once soul-slayers, false brethren, and false messengers; and +was proceeding to allege texts in behalf of his proposition, when Cromwell, +apparently tired of the discussion, and desirous to introduce a discourse more +accordant with his real feelings, interrupted him, though very civilly, and +took the discourse into his own hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Lack-a-day,” he said, “the good man speaks truth, according +to his knowledge and to his lights,—ay, bitter truths, and hard to be +digested, while we see as men see, and not with the eyes of angels.— +False messengers, said the reverend man?—ay, truly, the world is full of +such. You shall see them who will carry your secret message to the house of +your mortal foe, and will say to him, ‘Lo! my master is going forth with +a small train, by such and such desolate places; be you speedy, therefore, that +you may arise and slay him.’ And another, who knoweth where the foe of +your house, and enemy of your person, lies hidden, shall, instead of telling +his master thereof, carry tidings to the enemy even where he lurketh, saying, +‘Lo! my master knoweth of your secret abode—up now, and fly, lest +he come on thee like a lion on his prey.’—But shall this go without +punishment?” looking at Wildrake with a withering glance. “Now, as +my soul liveth, and as He liveth who hath made me a ruler in Israel, such false +messengers shall be knitted to gibbets on the wayside, and their right hands +shall be nailed above their heads, in an extended position, as if pointing out +to others the road from which they themselves have strayed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely,” said Master Holdenough, “it is right to cut off +such offenders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank ye, Mass-John,” muttered Wildrake; “when did the +Presbyterian fail to lend the devil a shove?” +</p> + +<p> +“But, I say,” continued Holdenough, “that the matter is +estranged from our present purpose, for the false brethren of whom I spoke +are”— +</p> + +<p> +“Right, excellent sir, they be those of our own house,” answered +Cromwell; “the good man is right once more. Ay, of whom can we now say +that he is a true brother, although he has lain in the same womb with us? +Although we have struggled in the same cause, eat at the same table, fought in +the same battle, worshipped at the same throne, there shall be no truth in +him.—Ah, Markham Everard, Markham Everard!” +</p> + +<p> +He paused at this ejaculation; and Everard, desirous at once of knowing how far +he stood committed, replied, “Your Excellency seems to have something in +your mind in which I am concerned. May I request you will speak it out, that I +may know what I am accused of?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Mark, Mark,” replied the General, “there needeth no +accuser speak when the still small voice speaks within us. Is there not +moisture on thy brow, Mark Everard? Is there not trouble in thine eye? Is there +not a failure in thy frame? And who ever saw such things in noble and stout +Markham Everard, whose brow was only moist after having worn the helmet for a +summer’s day; whose hand only shook when it had wielded for hours the +weighty falchion?—But go to, man! thou doubtest over much. Hast thou not +been to me as a brother, and shall I not forgive thee even the seventy-seventh +time? The knave hath tarried somewhere, who should have done by this time an +office of much import. Take advantage of his absence, Mark; it is a grace that +God gives thee beyond expectance. I do not say, fall at my feet; but speak to +me as a friend to his friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never said any thing to your Excellency that was in the least +undeserving the title you have assigned to me,” said Colonel Everard, +proudly. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, Markham,” answered Cromwell; “I say not you have. +But—but you ought to have remembered the message I sent you by that +person” (pointing to Wildrake;) “and you must reconcile it with +your conscience, how, having such a message, guarded with such reasons, you +could think yourself at liberty to expel my friends from Woodstock, being +determined to disappoint my object, whilst you availed yourself of the boon, on +condition of which my warrant was issued.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard was about to reply, when, to his astonishment, Wildrake stepped +forward; and with a voice and look very different from his ordinary manner, and +approaching a good deal to real dignity of mind, said, boldly and calmly, +“You are mistaken, Master Cromwell; and address yourself to the wrong +party here.” +</p> + +<p> +The speech was so sudden and intrepid that Cromwell stepped a pace back, and +motioned with his right hand towards his weapon, as if he had expected that an +address of a nature so unusually bold was to be followed by some act of +violence. He instantly resumed his indifferent posture; and, irritated at a +smile which he observed on Wildrake’s countenance, he said, with the +dignity of one long accustomed to see all tremble before him, “This to +me, fellow! Know you to whom you speak?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fellow!” echoed Wildrake, whose reckless humour was now completely +set afloat—“No fellow of yours, Master Oliver. I have known the day +when Roger Wildrake of Squattlesea-mere, Lincoln, a handsome young gallant, +with a good estate, would have been thought no fellow of the bankrupt brewer of +Huntingdon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be silent!” said Everard; “be silent, Wildrake, if you love +your life!” +</p> + +<p> +“I care not a maravedi for my life,” said Wildrake. “Zounds, +if he dislikes what I say, let him take to his tools! I know, after all, he +hath good blood in his veins! and I will indulge him with a turn in the court +yonder, had he been ten times a brewer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such ribaldry, friend,” said Oliver, “I treat with the +contempt it deserves. But if thou hast any thing to say touching the matter in +question speak out like a man, though thou look’st more like a +beast.” +</p> + +<p> +“All I have to say is,” replied Wildrake, “that whereas you +blame Everard for acting on your warrant, as you call it, I can tell you he +knew not a word of the rascally conditions you talk of. I took care of that; +and you may take the vengeance on me, if you list.” +</p> + +<p> +“Slave! dare you tell this to <i>me</i>?” said Cromwell, still +heedfully restraining his passion, which he felt was about to discharge itself +upon an unworthy object. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, you will make every Englishman a slave, if you have your own +way,” said Wildrake, not a whit abashed;—for the awe which had +formerly overcome him when alone with this remarkable man, had vanished, now +that they were engaged in an altercation before witnesses.—“But do +your worst, Master Oliver; I tell you beforehand, the bird has escaped +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You dare not say so!—Escaped?—So ho! Pearson! tell the +soldiers to mount instantly.—Thou art a lying +fool!—Escaped?—Where, or from whence?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, that is the question,” said Wildrake; “for look you, +sir—that men do go from hence is certain—but how they go, or to +what quarter”— +</p> + +<p> +Cromwell stood attentive, expecting some useful hint from the careless +impetuosity of the cavalier, upon the route which the King might have taken. +</p> + +<p> +—“Or to what quarter, as I said before, why, your Excellency, +Master Oliver, may e’en find that out yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +As he uttered the last words he unsheathed his rapier, and made a full pass at +the General’s body. Had his sword met no other impediment than the buff +jerkin, Cromwell’s course had ended on the spot. But, fearful of such +attempts, the General wore under his military dress a shirt of the finest mail, +made of rings of the best steel, and so light and flexible that it was little +or no encumbrance to the motions of the wearer. It proved his safety on this +occasion, for the rapier sprung in shivers; while the owner, now held back by +Everard and Holdenough, flung the hilt with passion on the ground, exclaiming, +“Be damned the hand that forged thee!—To serve me so long, and fail +me when thy true service would have honoured us both for ever! But no good +could come of thee, since thou wert pointed, even in jest, at a learned divine +of the Church of England.” +</p> + +<p> +In the first instant of alarm,—and perhaps suspecting Wildrake might be +supported by others, Cromwell half drew from his bosom a concealed pistol, +which he hastily returned, observing that both Everard and the clergyman were +withholding the cavalier from another attempt. +</p> + +<p> +Pearson and a soldier or two rushed in—“Secure that fellow,” +said the General, in the indifferent tone of one to whom imminent danger was +too familiar to cause irritation—“Bind him—but not so hard, +Pearson;”—for the men, to show their zeal, were drawing their +belts, which they used for want of cords, brutally tight round Wildrake’s +limbs. “He would have assassinated me, but I would reserve him for his +fit doom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Assassinated!—I scorn your words, Master Oliver,” said +Wildrake; “I proffered you a fair duello.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we shoot him in the street, for an example?” said Pearson to +Cromwell; while Everard endeavoured to stop Wildrake from giving further +offence. +</p> + +<p> +“On your life harm him not; but let him be kept in safe ward, and well +looked after,” said Cromwell; while the prisoner exclaimed to Everard, +“I prithee let me alone—I am now neither thy follower, nor any +man’s, and I am as willing to die as ever I was to take a cup of +liquor.—And hark ye, speaking of that, Master Oliver, you were once a +jolly fellow, prithee let one of thy lobsters here advance yonder tankard to my +lips, and your Excellency shall hear a toast, a song, and +a—secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unloose his head, and hand the debauched beast the tankard,” said +Oliver; “while yet he exists, it were shame to refuse him the element he +lives in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Blessings on your head for once,” said Wildrake, whose object in +continuing this wild discourse was, if possible, to gain a little delay, when +every moment was precious. “Thou hast brewed good ale, and that’s +warrant for a blessing. For my toast and my song, here they go together— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Son of a witch,<br/> +Mayst thou die in a ditch,<br/> + With the hutchers who back thy quarrels;<br/> +And rot above ground,<br/> +While the world shall resound<br/> + A welcome to Royal King Charles. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +And now for my secret, that you may not say I had your liquor for +nothing—I fancy my song will scarce pass current for much—My secret +is, Master Cromwell—that the bird is flown—and your red nose will +be as white as your winding-sheet before you can smell out which way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw, rascal,” answered Cromwell, contemptuously, “keep +your scurrile jests for the gibbet foot.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall look on the gibbet more boldly,” replied Wildrake, +“than I have seen you look on the Royal Martyr’s picture.” +</p> + +<p> +This reproach touched Cromwell to the very quick.—“Villain!” +he exclaimed; “drag him hence, draw out a party, and—But hold, not +now—to prison with him—let him be close watched, and gagged, if he +attempts to speak to the sentinels—Nay, hold—I mean, put a bottle +of brandy into his cell, and he will gag himself in his own way, I warrant +you—When day comes, that men can see the example, he shall be gagged +after my fashion.” +</p> + +<p> +During the various breaks in his orders, the General was evidently getting +command of his temper; and though he began in fury, he ended with the +contemptuous sneer of one who overlooks the abusive language of an inferior. +Something remained on his mind notwithstanding, for he continued standing, as +if fixed to the same spot in the apartment, his eyes bent on the ground, and +with closed hand pressed against his lips, like a man who is musing deeply. +Pearson, who was about to speak to him, drew back, and made a sign to those in +the room to be silent. +</p> + +<p> +Master Holdenough did not mark, or, at least, did not obey it. Approaching the +General, he said, in a respectful but firm tone, “Did I understand it to +be your Excellency’s purpose that this poor man shall die next +morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hah!” exclaimed Cromwell, starting from his reverie, “what +say’st thou?” +</p> + +<p> +“I took leave to ask, if it was your will that this unhappy man should +die to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whom saidst thou?” demanded Cromwell: “Markham +Everard—shall he die, saidst thou?” +</p> + +<p> +“God forbid!” replied Holdenough, stepping back—“I +asked whether this blinded creature, Wildrake, was to be so suddenly cut +off?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, marry is he,” said Cromwell, “were the whole General +Assembly of Divines at Westminster—the whole Sanhedrim of +Presbytery—to offer bail for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you will not think better of it, sir,” said Holdenough, +“at least give not the poor man the means of destroying his +senses—Let me go to him as a divine, to watch with him, in case he may +yet be admitted into the vineyard at the latest hour—yet brought into the +sheepfold, though he has neglected the call of the pastor till time is wellnigh +closed upon him.” +</p> + +<p> +“For God’s sake,” said Everard, who had hitherto kept +silence, because he knew Cromwell’s temper on such occasions, +“think better of what you do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it for thee to teach me?” replied Cromwell; “think thou +of thine own matters, and believe me it will require all thy wit.—And for +you, reverend sir, I will have no father-confessors attend my +prisoners—no tales out of school. If the fellow thirsts after ghostly +comfort, as he is much more like to thirst after a quartern of brandy, there is +Corporal Humgudgeon, who commands the <i>corps de garde</i>, will preach and +pray as well as the best of ye.—But this delay is intolerable—Comes +not this fellow yet?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” replied Pearson. “Had we not better go down to the +Lodge? The news of our coming hither may else get there before us.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said Cromwell, speaking aside to his officer, “but +you know Tomkins warned us against doing so, alleging there were so many +postern-doors, and sallyports, and concealed entrances in the old house, that +it was like a rabbit-warren, and that an escape might be easily made under our +very noses, unless he were with us, to point out all the ports which should be +guarded. He hinted, too, that he might be delayed a few minutes after his time +of appointment—but we have now waited half-an-hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does your Excellency think Tomkins is certainly to be depended +upon?” said Pearson. +</p> + +<p> +“As far as his interest goes, unquestionably,” replied the General. +“He has ever been the pump by which I have sucked the marrow out of many +a plot, in special those of the conceited fool Rochecliffe, who is goose enough +to believe that such a fellow as Tomkins would value any thing beyond the offer +of the best bidder. And yet it groweth late—I fear we must to the Lodge +without him—Yet, all things well considered, I will tarry here till +midnight.—Ah! Everard, thou mightest put this gear to rights if thou +wilt! Shall some foolish principle of fantastic punctilio have more weight with +thee, man, than have the pacification and welfare of England; the keeping of +faith to thy friend and benefactor, and who will be yet more so, and the +fortune and security of thy relations? Are these, I say, lighter in the balance +than the cause of a worthless boy, who, with his father and his father’s +house, have troubled Israel for fifty years?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand your Excellency, nor at what service you point, +which I can honestly render,” replied Everard. “That which is +dishonest I should be loth that you proposed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then this at least might suit your honesty, or scrupulous humour, call +it which thou wilt,” said Cromwell. “Thou knowest, surely, all the +passages about Jezebel’s palace down yonder?—Let me know how they +may be guarded against the escape of any from within.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot pretend to aid you in this matter,” said Everard; +“I know not all the entrances and posterns about Woodstock, and if I did, +I am not free in conscience to communicate with you on this occasion.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall do without you, sir,” replied Cromwell, haughtily; +“and if aught is found which may criminate you, remember you have lost +right to my protection.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be sorry,” said Everard, “to have lost your +friendship, General; but I trust my quality as an Englishman may dispense with +the necessity of protection from any man. I know no law which obliges me to be +spy or informer, even if I were in the way of having opportunity to do service +in either honourable capacity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” said Cromwell, “for all your privileges and +qualities, I will make bold to take you down to the Lodge at Woodstock +to-night, to enquire into affairs in which the State is concerned.—Come +hither, Pearson.” He took a paper from his pocket, containing a rough +sketch or ground-plan of Woodstock Lodge, with the avenues leading to +it.—“Look here,” he said, “we must move in two bodies +on foot, and with all possible silence—thou must march to the rear of the +old house of iniquity with twenty file of men, and dispose them around it the +wisest thou canst. Take the reverend man there along with you. He must be +secured at any rate, and may serve as a guide. I myself will occupy the front +of the Lodge, and thus having stopt all the earths, thou wilt come to me for +farther orders—silence and dispatch is all.—But for the dog +Tomkins, who broke appointment with me, he had need render a good excuse, or +woe to his father’s son!—Reverend sir, be pleased to accompany that +officer.—Colonel Everard, you are to follow me; but first give your sword +to Captain Pearson, and consider yourself as under arrest.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard gave his sword to Pearson without any comment, and with the most +anxious presage of evil followed the Republican General, in obedience to +commands which it would have been useless to dispute. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Were my son William here but now,<br/> + He wadna fail the pledge.”<br/> +Wi’ that in at the door there ran<br/> + A ghastly-looking page—<br/> +“I saw them, master, O! I saw,<br/> + Beneath the thornie brae,<br/> +Of black-mail’d warriors many a rank;<br/> + ‘Revenge!’ he cried, ‘and gae.’” +</p> + +<p class="left"> +H<small>ENRY</small> M<small>ACKENZIE</small>. +</p> + +<p> +The little party at the Lodge were assembled at supper, at the early hour of +eight o’clock. Sir Henry Lee, neglecting the food that was placed on the +table, stood by a lamp on the chimney-piece, and read a letter with mournful +attention. +</p> + +<p> +“Does my son write to you more particularly than to me, Doctor +Rochecliffe?” said the knight. “He only says here, that he will +return probably this night; and that Master Kerneguy must be ready to set off +with him instantly. What can this haste mean? Have you heard of any new search +after our suffering party? I wish they would permit me to enjoy my son’s +company in quiet but for a day.” +</p> + +<p> +“The quiet which depends on the wicked ceasing from troubling,” +said Dr. Rochecliffe, “is connected, not by days and hours, but by +minutes. Their glut of blood at Worcester had satiated them for a moment, but +their appetite, I fancy, has revived.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have news, then, to that purpose?” said Sir Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“Your son,” replied the Doctor, “wrote to me by the same +messenger: he seldom fails to do so, being aware of what importance it is that +I should know every thing that passes. Means of escape are provided on the +coast, and Master Kerneguy must be ready to start with your son the instant he +appears.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is strange,” said the knight; “for forty years I have +dwelt in this house, man and boy, and the point only was how to make the day +pass over our heads; for if I did not scheme out some hunting match or hawking, +or the like, I might have sat here on my arm-chair, as undisturbed as a +sleeping dormouse, from one end of the year to the other; and now I am more +like a hare on her form, that dare not sleep unless with her eyes open, and +scuds off when the wind rustles among the fern.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is strange,” said Alice, looking at Dr. Rochecliffe, +“that the roundhead steward has told you nothing of this. He is usually +communicative enough of the motions of his party; and I saw you close together +this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must be closer with him this evening,” said the Doctor gloomily; +“but he will not blab.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you may not trust him too much,” said Alice in +reply.—“To me, that man’s face, with all its shrewdness, +evinces such a dark expression, that methinks I read treason in his very +eye.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be assured, that matter is looked to,” answered the Doctor, in the +same ominous tone as before. No one replied, and there was a chilling and +anxious feeling of apprehension which seemed to sink down on the company at +once, like those sensations which make such constitutions as are particularly +subject to the electrical influence, conscious of an approaching thunder-storm. +</p> + +<p> +The disguised Monarch, apprised that day to be prepared on short notice to quit +his temporary asylum, felt his own share of the gloom which involved the little +society. But he was the first also to shake it off, as what neither suited his +character nor his situation. Gaiety was the leading distinction of the former, +and presence of mind, not depression of spirits, was required by the latter. +</p> + +<p> +“We make the hour heavier,” he said, “by being melancholy +about it. Had you not better join me, Mistress Alice, in Patrick Carey’s +jovial farewell?—Ah, you do not know Pat Carey—a younger brother of +Lord Falkland’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“A brother of the immortal Lord Falkland’s, and write songs!” +said the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Doctor, the Muses take tithe as well as the Church,” said +Charles, “and have their share in every family of distinction. You do not +know the words, Mistress Alice, but you can aid me, notwithstanding, in the +burden at least— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Come, now that we’re parting, and ’tis one to ten<br/> +If the towers of sweet Woodstock I e’er see agen,<br/> +Let us e’en have a frolic, and drink like tall men,<br/> + While the goblet goes merrily round.’” +</p> + +<p> +The song arose, but not with spirit. It was one of those efforts at forced +mirth, by which, above all other modes of expressing it, the absence of real +cheerfulness is most distinctly animated. Charles stopt the song, and upbraided +the choristers. +</p> + +<p> +“You sing, my dear Mistress Alice, as if you were chanting one of the +seven penitential psalms; and you, good Doctor, as if you recited the funeral +service.” +</p> + +<p> +The Doctor rose hastily from the table, and turned to the window; for the +expression connected singularly with the task which he was that evening to +discharge. Charles looked at him with some surprise; for the peril in which he +lived, made him watchful of the slightest motions of those around +him—then turned to Sir Henry, and said, “My honoured host, can you +tell any reason for this moody fit, which has so strangely crept upon us +all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not I, my dear Louis,” replied the knight; “I have no skill +in these nice quillets of philosophy. I could as soon undertake to tell you the +reason why Bevis turns round three times before he lies down. I can only say +for myself, that if age and sorrow and uncertainty be enough to break a jovial +spirit, or at least to bend it now and then, I have my share of them all; so +that I, for one, cannot say that I am sad merely because I am not merry. I have +but too good cause for sadness. I would I saw my son, were it but for a +minute.” +</p> + +<p> +Fortune seemed for once disposed to gratify the old man; for Albert Lee entered +at that moment. He was dressed in a riding suit, and appeared to have travelled +hard. He cast his eye hastily around as he entered. It rested for a second on +that of the disguised Prince, and, satisfied with the glance which he received +in lieu, he hastened, after the fashion of the olden day, to kneel down to his +father, and request his blessing. +</p> + +<p> +“It is thine, my boy,” said the old man; a tear springing to his +eyes as he laid his hand on the long locks, which distinguished the young +cavalier’s rank and principles, and which, usually combed and curled with +some care, now hung wild and dishevelled about his shoulders. They remained an +instant in this posture, when the old man suddenly started from it, as if +ashamed of the emotion which he had expressed before so many witnesses, and +passing the back of his hand hastily across his eyes, bid Albert get up and +mind his supper, “since I dare say you have ridden fast and far since you +last baited—and we’ll send round a cup to his health, if Doctor +Rochecliffe and the company pleases—Joceline, thou knave, skink +about—thou look’st as if thou hadst seen a ghost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Joceline,” said Alice, “is sick for sympathy—one of +the stags ran at Phœbe Mayflower to-day, and she was fain to have +Joceline’s assistance to drive the creature off—the girl has been +in fits since she came home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Silly slut,” said the old knight—“She a +woodman’s daughter!—But, Joceline, if the deer gets dangerous, you +must send a broad arrow through him.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will not need, Sir Henry,” said Joceline, speaking with great +difficulty of utterance—“he is quiet enough now—he will not +offend in that sort again.” +</p> + +<p> +“See it be so,” replied the knight; “remember Mistress Alice +often walks in the Chase. And now, fill round, and fill too, a cup to thyself +to overred thy fear, as mad Will has it. Tush, man, Phœbe will do well +enough—she only screamed and ran, that thou might’st have the +pleasure to help her. Mind what thou dost, and do not go spilling the wine +after that fashion.—Come, here is a health to our wanderer, who has come +to us again.” +</p> + +<p> +“None will pledge it more willingly than I,” said the disguised +Prince, unconsciously assuming an importance which the character he personated +scarce warranted; but Sir Henry, who had become fond of the supposed page, with +all his peculiarities, imposed only a moderate rebuke upon his petulance. +“Thou art a merry, good-humoured youth, Louis,” he said, “but +it is a world to see how the forwardness of the present generation hath gone +beyond the gravity and reverence which in my youth was so regularly observed +towards those of higher rank and station—I dared no more have given my +own tongue the rein, when there was a doctor of divinity in company, than I +would have dared to have spoken in church in service time.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, sir,” said Albert, hastily interfering; “but Master +Kerneguy had the better right to speak at present, that I have been absent on +his business as well as my own, have seen several of his friends, and bring him +important intelligence.” +</p> + +<p> +Charles was about to rise and beckon Albert aside, naturally impatient to know +what news he had procured, or what scheme of safe escape was now decreed for +him. But Dr. Rochecliffe twitched his cloak, as a hint to him to sit still, and +not show any extraordinary motive for anxiety, since, in case of a sudden +discovery of his real quality, the violence of Sir Henry Lee’s feelings +might have been likely to attract too much attention. +</p> + +<p> +Charles, therefore, only replied, as to the knight’s stricture, that he +had a particular title to be sudden and unceremonious in expressing his thanks +to Colonel Lee—that gratitude was apt to be unmannerly—finally, +that he was much obliged to Sir Henry for his admonition; and that quit +Woodstock when he would, “he was sure to leave it a better man than he +came there.” +</p> + +<p> +His speech was of course ostensibly directed towards the father; but a glance +at Alice assured her that she had her full share in the compliment. +</p> + +<p> +“I fear,” he concluded, addressing Albert, “that you come to +tell us our stay here must be very short.” +</p> + +<p> +“A few hours only,” said Albert—“just enough for +needful rest for ourselves and our horses. I have procured two which are good +and tried. But Doctor Rochecliffe broke faith with me. I expected to have met +some one down at Joceline’s hut, where I left the horses; and finding no +person, I was delayed an hour in littering them down myself, that they might be +ready for to-morrow’s work—for we must be off before day.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I—intended to have sent +Tomkins—but—but”—hesitated the Doctor, +“I”— +</p> + +<p> +“The roundheaded rascal was drunk, or out of the way, I presume,” +said Albert. “I am glad of it—you may easily trust him too +far.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hitherto he has been faithful,” said the Doctor, “and I +scarce think he will fail me now. But Joceline will go down and have the horses +in readiness in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Joceline’s countenance was usually that of alacrity itself on a case +extraordinary. Now, however, he seemed to hesitate. +</p> + +<p> +“You will go with me a little way, Doctor?” he said, as he edged +himself closely to Rochecliffe. +</p> + +<p> +“How? puppy, fool, and blockhead,” said the knight, “wouldst +thou ask Doctor Rochecliffe to bear thee company at this hour?—Out, +hound!—get down to the kennel yonder instantly, or I will break the +knave’s pate of thee.” +</p> + +<p> +Joceline looked with an eye of agony at the divine, as if entreating him to +interfere in his behalf; but just as he was about to speak, a most melancholy +howling arose at the hall-door, and a dog was heard scratching for admittance. +</p> + +<p> +“What ails Bevis next?” said the old knight. “I think this +must be All-Fools-day, and that every thing around me is going mad!” +</p> + +<p> +The same sound startled Albert and Charles from a private conference in which +they had engaged, and Albert ran to the hall-door to examine personally into +the cause of the noise. +</p> + +<p> +“It is no alarm,” said the old knight to Kerneguy, “for in +such cases the dog’s bark is short, sharp, and furious. These long howls +are said to be ominous. It was even so that Bevis’s grandsire bayed the +whole livelong night on which my poor father died. If it comes now as a +presage, God send it regard the old and useless, not the young, and those who +may yet serve King and country!” +</p> + +<p> +The dog had pushed past Colonel Lee, who stood a little while at the hall-door +to listen if there were any thing stirring without, while Bevis advanced into +the room where the company were assembled, bearing something in his mouth, and +exhibiting, in an unusual degree, that sense of duty and interest which a dog +seems to show when he thinks he has the charge of something important. He +entered therefore, drooping his long tail, slouching his head and ears, and +walking with the stately yet melancholy dignity of a war-horse at his +master’s funeral. In this manner he paced through the room, went straight +up to Joceline, who had been regarding him with astonishment, and uttering a +short and melancholy howl, laid at his feet the object which he bore in his +mouth. Joceline stooped, and took from the floor a man’s glove, of the +fashion worn by the troopers, having something like the old-fashioned +gauntleted projections of thick leather arising from the wrist, which go half +way up to the elbow, and secure the arm against a cut with a sword. But +Joceline had no sooner looked at what in itself was so common an object, than +he dropped it from his hand, staggered backward, uttered a groan, and nearly +fell to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, the coward’s curse be upon thee for an idiot!” said the +knight, who had picked up the glove, and was looking at it—“thou +shouldst be sent back to school, and flogged till the craven’s blood was +switched out of thee—What dost thou look at but a glove, thou base +poltroon, and a very dirty glove, too? Stay, here is writing—Joseph +Tomkins? Why, that is the roundheaded fellow—I wish he hath not come to +some mischief, for this is not dirt on the cheveron, but blood. Bevis may have +bit the fellow, and yet the dog seemed to love him well too, or the stag may +have hurt him. Out, Joceline, instantly, and see where he is—wind your +bugle.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot go,” said Joliffe, “unless”—and again +he looked piteously at Dr. Rochecliffe, who saw no time was to be lost in +appeasing the ranger’s terrors, as his ministry was most needful in the +present circumstances.—“Get spade and mattock,” he whispered +to him, “and a dark lantern, and meet me in the Wilderness.” +</p> + +<p> +Joceline left the room; and the Doctor, before following him, had a few words +of explanation with Colonel Lee. His own spirit, far from being dismayed on the +occasion, rather rose higher, like one whose natural element was intrigue and +danger. “Here hath been wild work,” he said, “since you +parted. Tomkins was rude to the wench Phœbe—Joceline and he had a brawl +together, and Tomkins is lying dead in the thicket, not far from +Rosamond’s Well. It will be necessary that Joceline and I go directly to +bury the body; for besides that some one might stumble upon it, and raise an +alarm, this fellow Joceline will never be fit for any active purpose till it is +under ground. Though as stout as a lion, the under-keeper has his own weak +side, and is more afraid of a dead body than a living one. When do you propose +to start to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“By daybreak, or earlier,” said Colonel Lee; “but we will +meet again. A vessel is provided, and I have relays in more places than +one—we go off from the coast of Sussex; and I am to get a letter at +——, acquainting me precisely with the spot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wherefore not go off instantly?” said the Doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“The horses would fail us,” replied Albert; “they have been +hard ridden to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Adieu,” said Rochecliffe, “I must to my task—Do you +take rest and repose for yours. To conceal a slaughtered body, and convey on +the same night a king from danger and captivity, are two feats which have +fallen to few folks save myself; but let me not, while putting on my harness, +boast myself as if I were taking it off after a victory.” So saying he +left the apartment, and, muffling himself in his cloak, went out into what was +called the Wilderness. +</p> + +<p> +The weather was a raw frost. The mists lay in partial wreaths upon the lower +grounds; but the night, considering that the heavenly bodies were in a great +measure hidden by the haze, was not extremely dark. Dr. Rochecliffe could not, +however, distinguish the under-keeper until he had hemmed once or twice, when +Joceline answered the signal by showing a glimpse of light from the dark +lantern which he carried. Guided by this intimation of his presence, the divine +found him leaning against a buttress which had once supported a terrace, now +ruinous. He had a pickaxe and shovel, together with a deer’s hide hanging +over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want with the hide, Joceline,” said Dr. Rochecliffe, +“that you lumber it about with you on such an errand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, look you, Doctor,” he answered, “it is as well to tell +you all about it. The man and I—he there—you know whom I +mean—had many years since a quarrel about this deer. For though we were +great friends, and Philip was sometimes allowed by my master’s permission +to help me in mine office, yet I knew, for all that, Philip Hazeldine was +sometimes a trespasser. The deer-stealers were very bold at that time, it being +just before the breaking out of the war, when men were becoming +unsettled— And so it chanced, that one day, in the Chase, I found two +fellows, with their faces blacked and shirts over their clothes, carrying as +prime a buck between them as any was in the park. I was upon them in the +instant—one escaped, but I got hold of the other fellow, and who should +it prove to be but trusty Phil Hazeldine! Well, I don’t know whether it +was right or wrong, but he was my old friend and pot-companion, and I took his +word for amendment in future; and he helped me to hang up the deer on a tree, +and I came back with a horse to carry him to the Lodge, and tell the knight the +story, all but Phil’s name. But the rogues had been too clever for me; +for they had flayed and dressed the deer, and quartered him, and carried him +off, and left the hide and horns, with a chime, saying,— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘The haunch to thee,<br/> +The breast to me,<br/> +The hide and the horns for the keeper’s fee.’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +And this I knew for one of Phil’s mad pranks, that he would play in those +days with any lad in the country. But I was so nettled that I made the +deer’s hide be curried and dressed by a tanner, and swore that it should +be his winding-sheet or mine; and though I had long repented my rash oath, yet +now, Doctor, you see what it is come to—though I forgot it, the devil did +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a very wrong thing to make a vow so sinful,” said +Rochecliffe; “but it would have been greatly worse had you endeavoured to +keep it. Therefore, I bid you cheer up,” said the good divine; “for +in this unhappy case, I could not have wished, after what I have heard from +Phœbe and yourself, that you should have kept your hand still, though I may +regret that the blow has proved fatal. Nevertheless, thou hast done even that +which was done by the great and inspired legislator, when he beheld an Egyptian +tyrannizing over a Hebrew, saving that, in the case present, it was a female, +when, says the Septuagint, <i>Percussum Egyptium abscondit sabulo</i>; the +meaning whereof I will explain to you another time. Wherefore, I exhort you not +to grieve beyond measure; for although this circumstance is unhappy in time and +place, yet, from what Phœbe hath informed me of yonder wretch’s +opinions, it is much to be regretted that his brains had not been beaten out in +his cradle, rather than that he had grown up to be one of those +Grindlestonians, or Muggletonians, in whom is the perfection of every foul and +blasphemous heresy, united with such an universal practice of hypocritical +assentation as would deceive their master, even Satan himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless, sir,” said the forester, “I hope you will +bestow some of the service of the Church on this poor man, as it was his last +wish, naming you, sir, at the same time; and unless this were done, I should +scarce dare to walk out in the dark again for my whole life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art a silly fellow; but if,” continued the Doctor, “he +named me as he departed, and desired the last rites of the Church, there was, +it may be, a turning from evil and a seeking to good even in his last moments; +and if Heaven granted him grace to form a prayer so fitting, wherefore should +man refuse it? All I fear is the briefness of time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, your reverence may cut the service somewhat short,” said +Joceline; “assuredly he does not deserve the whole of it; only if +something were not to be done, I believe I should flee the country. They were +his last words; and methinks he sent Bevis with his glove to put me in mind of +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out, fool! Do you think,” said the Doctor, “dead men send +gauntlets to the living, like knights in a romance; or, if so, would they +choose dogs to carry their challenges? I tell thee, fool, the cause was natural +enough. Bevis, questing about, found the body, and brought the glove to you to +intimate where it was lying, and to require assistance; for such is the high +instinct of these animals towards one in peril.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, if you think so, Doctor,” said Joceline—“and, +doubtless, I must say, Bevis took an interest in the man—if indeed it was +not something worse in the shape of Bevis, for methought his eyes looked wild +and fiery, as if he would have spoken.” +</p> + +<p> +As he talked thus, Joceline rather hung back, and, in doing so, displeased the +Doctor, who exclaimed, “Come along, thou lazy laggard! Art thou a +soldier, and a brave one, and so much afraid of a dead man? Thou hast killed +men in battle and in chase, I warrant thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, but their backs were to me,” said Joceline. “I never saw +one of them cast back his head, and glare at me as yonder fellow did, his eye +retaining a glance of hatred, mixed with terror and reproach, till it became +fixed like a jelly. And were you not with me, and my master’s concerns, +and something else, very deeply at stake, I promise you I would not again look +at him for all Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must, though,” said the Doctor, suddenly pausing, “for +here is the place where he lies. Come hither deep into the copse; take care of +stumbling—Here is a place just fitting, and we will draw the briars over +the grave afterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +As the Doctor thus issued his directions, he assisted also in the execution of +them; and while his attendant laboured to dig a shallow and mishapen grave, a +task which the state of the soil, perplexed with roots, and hardened by the +influence of the frost, rendered very difficult, the divine read a few passages +out of the funeral service, partly in order to appease the superstitious +terrors of Joceline, and partly because he held it matter of conscience not to +deny the Church’s rites to one who had requested their aid in extremity. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRTY SECOND.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Case ye, case ye,—on with your vizards. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +H<small>ENRY</small> IV. +</p> + +<p> +The company whom we had left in Victor Lee’s parlour were about to +separate for the night, and had risen to take a formal leave of each other, +when a tap was heard at the hall-door. Albert, the vidette of the party, +hastened to open it, enjoining, as he left the room, the rest to remain quiet, +until he had ascertained the cause of the knocking. When he gained the portal, +he called to know who was there, and what they wanted at so late an hour. +</p> + +<p> +“It is only me,” answered a treble voice. +</p> + +<p> +“And what is your name, my little fellow?” said Albert. +</p> + +<p> +“Spitfire, sir,” replied the voice without. +</p> + +<p> +“Spitfire?” said Albert. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied the voice; “all the world calls me so, +and Colonel Everard himself. But my name is Spittal for all that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Everard? arrive you from him?” demanded young Lee. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir; I come, sir, from Roger Wildrake, esquire, of Squattlesea-mere, +if it like you,” said the boy; “and I have brought a token to +Mistress Lee, which I am to give into her own hands, if you would but open the +door, sir, and let me in—but I can do nothing with a three-inch board +between us.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is some freak of that drunken rakehell,” said Albert, in a low +voice, to his sister, who had crept out after him on tiptoe. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, let us not be hasty in concluding so,” said the young lady; +“at this moment the least trifle may be of consequence.—What tokens +has Master Wildrake sent me, my little boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nothing very valuable neither,” replied the boy; “but +he was so anxious you should get it, that he put me out of window as one would +chuck out a kitten, that I might not be stopped by the soldiers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear you?” said Alice to her brother; “undo the gate, for +God’s sake.” Her brother, to whom her feelings of suspicion were +now sufficiently communicated, opened the gate in haste, and admitted the boy, +whose appearance, not much dissimilar to that of a skinned rabbit in a livery, +or a monkey at a fair, would at another time have furnished them with +amusement. The urchin messenger entered the hall, making several odd bows, and +delivered the woodcock’s feather with much ceremony to the young lady, +assuring her it was the prize she had won upon a wager about hawking. +</p> + +<p> +“I prithee, my little man,” said Albert, “was your master +drunk or sober, when he sent thee all this way with a feather at this time of +night?” +</p> + +<p> +“With reverence, sir,” said the boy, “he was what he calls +sober, and what I would call concerned in liquor for any other person.” +</p> + +<p> +“Curse on the drunken coxcomb!” said Albert,—“There is +a tester for thee, boy, and tell thy master to break his jests on suitable +persons, and at fitting times.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay yet a minute,” exclaimed Alice; “we must not go too +fast—this craves wary walking.” +</p> + +<p> +“A feather,” said Albert; “all this work about a feather! +Why, Doctor Rochecliffe, who can suck intelligence out of every trifle as a +magpie would suck an egg, could make nothing of this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let us try what we can do without him then,” said Alice. Then +addressing herself to the boy,—“So there are strangers at your +master’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“At Colonel Everard’s, madam, which is the same thing,” said +Spitfire. +</p> + +<p> +“And what manner of strangers,” said Alice; “guests, I +suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, mistress,” said the boy, “a sort of guests that make +themselves welcome wherever they come, if they meet not a welcome from their +landlord—soldiers, madam.” +</p> + +<p> +“The men that have long been lying at Woodstock,” said Albert. +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir,” said Spitfire, “new comers, with gallant +buff-coats and steel breastplates; and their commander—your honour and +your ladyship never saw such a man—at least I am sure Bill Spitfire never +did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he tall or short?” said Albert, now much alarmed. +</p> + +<p> +“Neither one nor other,” said the boy; “stout made, with +slouching shoulders; a nose large, and a face one would not like to say No to. +He had several officers with him, I saw him but for a moment, but I shall never +forget him while I live.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right,” said Albert Lee to his sister, pulling her to one +side, “quite right—the Archfiend himself is upon us!” +</p> + +<p> +“And the feather,” said Alice, whom fear had rendered apprehensive +of slight tokens, “means flight—and a woodcock is a bird of +passage.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have hit it,” said her brother; “but the time has taken +us cruelly short. Give the boy a trifle more—nothing that can excite +suspicion, and dismiss him. I must summon Rochecliffe and Joceline.” +</p> + +<p> +He went accordingly, but, unable to find those he sought, he returned with +hasty steps to the parlour, where, in his character of Louis, the page was +exerting himself to detain the old knight, who, while laughing at the tales he +told him, was anxious to go to see what was passing in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter, Albert?” said the old man; “who calls at +the Lodge at so undue an hour, and wherefore is the hall-door opened to them? I +will not have my rules, and the regulations laid down for keeping this house, +broken through, because I am old and poor. Why answer you not? why keep a +chattering with Louis Kerneguy, and neither of you all the while minding what I +say?—Daughter Alice, have you sense and civility enough to tell me, what +or who it is that is admitted here contrary to my general orders?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one, sir,” replied Alice; “a boy brought a message, which +I fear is an alarming one.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is only fear, sir,” said Albert, stepping forward, +“that whereas we thought to have stayed with you till to-morrow, we must +now take farewell of you to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so, brother,” said Alice, “you must stay and aid the +defence here—if you and Master Kerneguy are both missed, the pursuit will +be instant, and probably successful; but if you stay, the hiding-places about +this house will take some time to search. You can change coats with Kerneguy +too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right, noble wench,” said Albert; “most +excellent—yes—Louis, I remain as Kerneguy, you fly as young Master +Lee.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot see the justice of that,” said Charles. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I neither,” said the knight, interfering. “Men come and +go, lay schemes, and alter them, in my house, without deigning to consult me! +And who is Master Kerneguy, or what is he to me, that my son must stay and take +the chance of mischief, and this your Scotch page is to escape in his dress? I +will have no such contrivance carried into effect, though it were the finest +cobweb that was ever woven in Doctor Rochecliffe’s brains.—I wish +you no ill, Louis; thou art a lively boy; but I have been somewhat too lightly +treated in this, man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am fully of your opinion, Sir Henry,” replied the person whom he +addressed. “You have been, indeed, repaid for your hospitality by want of +that confidence, which could never have been so justly reposed. But the moment +is come, when I must say, in a word, I am that unfortunate Charles Stewart, +whose lot it has been to become the cause of ruin to his best friends, and +whose present residence in your family threatens to bring destruction to you, +and all around you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Louis Kerneguy,” said the knight very angrily, “I +will teach you to choose the subjects of your mirth better when you address +them to me; and, moreover, very little provocation would make me desire to have +an ounce or two of that malapert blood from you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be still, sir, for God’s sake!” said Albert to his father. +“This is indeed THE KING; and such is the danger of his person, that +every moment we waste may bring round a fatal catastrophe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” said the father, clasping his hands together, and about +to drop on his knees, “has my earnest wish been accomplished! and is it +in such a manner as to make me pray it had never taken place!” +</p> + +<p> +He then attempted to bend his knee to the King—kissed his hand, while +large tears trickled from his eyes—then said, “Pardon, my +Lord—your Majesty, I mean—permit me to sit in your presence but one +instant till my blood beats more freely, and then”— +</p> + +<p> +Charles raised his ancient and faithful subject from the ground; and even in +that moment of fear, and anxiety, and danger, insisted on leading him to his +seat, upon which he sunk in apparent exhaustion, his head drooping upon his +long white beard, and big unconscious tears mingling with its silver hairs. +Alice and Albert remained with the King, arguing and urging his instant +departure. +</p> + +<p> +“The horses are at the under-keeper’s hut,” said Albert, +“and the relays only eighteen or twenty miles off. If the horses can but +carry you so far”— +</p> + +<p> +“Will you not rather,” interrupted Alice, “trust to the +concealments of this place, so numerous and so well +tried—Rochecliffe’s apartments, and the yet farther places of +secrecy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Alas!” said Albert, “I know them only by name. My father was +sworn to confide them to but one man, and he had chosen Rochecliffe.” +</p> + +<p> +“I prefer taking the field to any hiding-hole in England,” said the +King. “Could I but find my way to this hut where the horses are, I would +try what arguments whip and spur could use to get them to the rendezvous, where +I am to meet Sir Thomas Acland and fresh cattle. Come with me, Colonel Lee, and +let us run for it. The roundheads have beat us in battle; but if it come to a +walk or a race, I think I can show which has the best mettle.” +</p> + +<p> +“But then,” said Albert, “we lose all the time which may +otherwise be gained by the defence of this house—leaving none here but my +poor father, incapable from his state of doing any thing; and you will be +instantly pursued by fresh horses, while ours are unfit for the road. Oh, where +is the villain Joceline!” +</p> + +<p> +“What can have become of Doctor Rochecliffe?” said Alice; “he +that is so ready with advice;—where can they be gone? Oh, if my father +could but rouse himself!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your father <i>is</i> roused,” said Sir Henry, rising and stepping +up to them with all the energy of full manhood in his countenance and +motions—“I did but gather my thoughts—for when did they fail +a Lee when his King needed counsel or aid?” He then began to speak, with +the ready and distinct utterance of a general at the head of an army, ordering +every motion for attack and defence—unmoved himself, and his own energy +compelling obedience, and that cheerful obedience, from all who heard him. +“Daughter,” he said, “beat up dame Jellicot—Let Phœbe +rise if she were dying, and secure doors and windows.” +</p> + +<p> +“That hath been done regularly since—we have been thus far +honoured,” said his daughter, looking at the King—“yet, let +them go through the chambers once more.” And Alice retired to give the +orders, and presently returned. +</p> + +<p> +The old knight proceeded, in the same decided tone of promptitude and +dispatch—“Which is your first stage?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gray’s—Rothebury, by Henley, where Sir Thomas Acland and +young Knolles are to have horses in readiness,” said Albert; “but +how to get there with our weary cattle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Trust me for that,” said the knight; and proceeding with the same +tone of authority—“Your Majesty must instantly to Joceline’s +lodge,” he said, “there are your horses and your means of flight. +The secret places of this house, well managed, will keep the rebel dogs in play +two or three hours good—Rochecliffe is, I fear, kidnapped, and his +Independent hath betrayed him—Would I had judged the villain better! I +would have struck him through at one of our trials of fence, with an unbated +weapon, as Will says.—But for your guide when on horseback, half a +bowshot from Joceline’s hut is that of old Martin the verdurer; he is a +score of years older than I, but as fresh as an old oak—beat up his +quarters, and let him ride with you for death and life. He will guide you to +your relay, for no fox that ever earthed in the Chase knows the country so well +for seven leagues around.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excellent, my dearest father, excellent,” said Albert; “I +had forgot Martin the verdurer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young men forget all,” answered the knight—“Alas, that +the limbs should fail, when the head which can best direct them—is come +perhaps to its wisest!” +</p> + +<p> +“But the tired horses,” said the King—“could we not get +fresh cattle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Impossible at this time of night,” answered Sir Henry; “but +tired horses may do much with care and looking to.” He went hastily to +the cabinet which stood in one of the oriel windows, and searched for something +in the drawers, pulling out one after another. +</p> + +<p> +“We lose time, father,” said Albert, afraid that the intelligence +and energy which the old man displayed had been but a temporary flash of the +lamp, which was about to relapse into evening twilight. +</p> + +<p> +“Go to, sir boy,” said his father, sharply; “is it for thee +to tax me in this presence!—Know, that were the whole roundheads that are +out of hell in present assemblage round Woodstock, I could send away the Royal +Hope of England by a way that the wisest of them could never guess.— +Alice, my love, ask no questions, but speed to the kitchen, and fetch a slice +or two of beef, or better of venison; cut them long, and thin, d’ye mark +me”— +</p> + +<p> +“This is wandering of the mind,” said Albert apart to the King. +“We do him wrong, and your Majesty harm, to listen to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think otherwise,” said Alice, “and I know my father better +than you.” So saying, she left the room, to fulfil her father’s +orders. +</p> + +<p> +“I think so, too,” said Charles—“in Scotland the +Presbyterian ministers, when thundering in their pulpits on my own sins and +those of my house, took the freedom to call me to my face Jeroboam, or +Rehoboam, or some such name, for following the advice of young +counsellors— Oddsfish, I will take that of the grey beard for once, for +never saw I more sharpness and decision than in the countenance of that noble +old man.” +</p> + +<p> +By this time Sir Henry had found what he was seeking. “In this tin +box,” he said, “are six balls prepared of the most cordial spices, +mixed with medicaments of the choicest and most invigorating quality. Given +from hour to hour, wrapt in a covering of good beef or venison, a horse of +spirit will not flag for five hours, at the speed of fifteen miles an hour; +and, please God, the fourth of the time places your Majesty in +safety—what remains may be useful on some future occasion. Martin knows +how to administer them; and Albert’s weary cattle shall be ready, if +walked gently for ten minutes, in running to devour the way, as old Will +says—nay, waste not time in speech, your Majesty does me but too much +honour in using what is your own.—Now, see if the coast is clear, Albert, +and let his Majesty set off instantly—We will play our parts but ill, if +any take the chase after him for these two hours that are between night and +day—Change dresses, as you proposed, in yonder sleeping +apartment—something may be made of that too.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, good Sir Henry,” said the King, “your zeal overlooks a +principal point. I have, indeed, come from the under-keeper’s hut you +mention to this place, but it was by daylight, and under guidance—I shall +never find my way thither in utter darkness, and without a guide—I fear +you must let the Colonel go with me; and I entreat and command, you will put +yourself to no trouble or risk to defend the house—only make what delay +you can in showing its secret recesses.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rely on me, my royal and liege Sovereign,” said Sir Henry; +“but Albert <i>must</i> remain here, and Alice shall guide your Majesty +to Joceline’s hut in his stead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alice!” said Charles, stepping back in surprise—“why, +it is dark night—and—and—and—” He glanced his eye +towards Alice, who had by this time returned to the apartment, and saw doubt +and apprehension in her look; an intimation, that the reserve under which he +had placed his disposition for gallantry, since the morning of the proposed +duel, had not altogether effaced the recollection of his previous conduct. He +hastened to put a strong negative upon a proposal which appeared so much to +embarrass her. “It is impossible for me, indeed, Sir Henry, to use +Alice’s services—I must walk as if blood-hounds were at my +heels.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alice shall trip it,” said the knight, “with any wench in +Oxfordshire; and what would your Majesty’s best speed avail, if you know +not the way to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, nay, Sir Henry,” continued the King, “the night is too +dark—we stay too long—I will find it myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lose no time in exchanging your dress with Albert,” said Sir +Henry—“leave me to take care of the rest.” +</p> + +<p> +Charles, still inclined to expostulate, withdrew, however, into the apartment +where young Lee and he were to exchange clothes; while Sir Henry said to his +daughter, “Get thee a cloak, wench, and put on thy thickest shoes. Thou +might’st have ridden Pixie, but he is something spirited, and them art a +timid horsewoman, and ever wert so—the only weakness I have known of +thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my father,” said Alice, fixing her eyes earnestly on Sir +Henry’s face, “must I really go along with the King? might not +Phœbe, or dame Jellicot, go with us?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—no—no,” answered Sir Henry; “Phœbe, the +silly slut, has, as you well know, been in fits to-night, and I take it, such a +walk as you must take is no charm for hysterics—Dame Jellicot hobbles as +slow as a broken-winded mare—besides, her deafness, were there occasion +to speak to her—No—no—you shall go alone and entitle yourself +to have it written on your tomb, ‘Here lies she who saved the +King!’—And, hark you, do not think of returning to-night, but stay +at the verdurer’s with his niece—the Park and Chase will shortly be +filled with our enemies, and whatever chances here you will learn early enough +in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is it I may then learn?” said Alice—“Alas, +who can tell?—O, dearest father, let me stay and share your fate! I will +pull off the timorous woman, and fight for the King, if it be +necessary.—But—I cannot think of becoming his only attendant in the +dark night, and through a road so lonely.” +</p> + +<p> +“How!” said the knight, raising his voice; “do you bring +ceremonious and silly scruples forward, when the King’s safety, nay his +life is at stake! By this mark of loyalty,” stroking his grey beard as he +spoke, “could I think thou wert other than becomes a daughter of the +house of Lee, I would”— +</p> + +<p> +At this moment the King and Albert interrupted him by entering the apartment, +having exchanged dresses, and, from their stature, bearing some resemblance to +each other, though Charles was evidently a plain, and Lee a handsome young man. +Their complexions were different; but the difference could not be immediately +noticed, Albert having adopted a black peruque, and darkened his eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +Albert Lee walked out to the front of the mansion, to give one turn around the +Lodge, in order to discover in what direction any enemies might be approaching, +that they might judge of the road which it was safest for the royal fugitive to +adopt. Meanwhile the King, who was first in entering the apartment, had heard a +part of the angry answer which the old knight made to his daughter, and was at +no loss to guess the subject of his resentment. He walked up to him with the +dignity which he perfectly knew how to assume when he chose it. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Henry,” he said, “it is our pleasure, nay our command, +that you forbear all exertion of paternal authority in this matter. Mistress +Alice, I am sure, must have good and strong reasons for what she wishes; and I +should never pardon myself were she placed in an unpleasant situation on my +account. I am too well acquainted with woods and wildernesses to fear losing my +way among my native oaks of Woodstock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Majesty shall not incur the danger,” said Alice, her +temporary hesitation entirely removed by the calm, clear, and candid manner in +which Charles uttered these last words. “You shall run no risk that I can +prevent; and the unhappy chances of the times in which I have lived have from +experience made the forest as well known to me by night as by day. So, if you +scorn not my company, let us away instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +“If your company is given with good-will, I accept it with +gratitude,” replied the monarch. +</p> + +<p> +“Willingly,” she said, “most willingly. Let me be one of the +first to show that zeal and that confidence, which I trust all England will one +day emulously display in behalf of your Majesty.” +</p> + +<p> +She uttered these words with an alacrity of spirit, and made the trifling +change of habit with a speed and dexterity, which showed that all her fears +were gone, and that her heart was entirely in the mission on which her father +had dispatched her. +</p> + +<p> +“All is safe around,” said Albert Lee, showing himself; “you +may take which passage you will—the most private is the best.” +</p> + +<p> +Charles went gracefully up to Sir Henry Lee ere his departure, and took him by +the hand.—“I am too proud to make professions,” he said, +“which I may be too poor ever to realize. But while Charles Stewart +lives, he lives the obliged and indebted debtor of Sir Henry Lee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say not so, please your Majesty, say not so,” exclaimed the old +man, struggling with the hysterical sobs which rose to his throat. “He +who might claim all, cannot become indebted by accepting some small +part.” +</p> + +<p> +“Farewell, good friend, farewell!” said the King; “think of +me as a son, a brother to Albert and to Alice, who are, I see, already +impatient. Give me a father’s blessing, and let me be gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“The God, through whom kings reign, bless your Majesty,” said Sir +Henry, kneeling and turning his reverend face and clasped hands up to +Heaven—“The Lord of Hosts bless you, and save your Majesty from +your present dangers, and bring you in his own good time to the safe possession +of the crown that is your due!” +</p> + +<p> +Charles received this blessing like that of a father, and Alice and he departed +on their journey. +</p> + +<p> +As they left the apartment, the old knight let his hands sink gently as he +concluded this fervent ejaculation, his head sinking at the same time. His son +dared not disturb his meditation, yet feared the strength of his feelings might +overcome that of his constitution, and that he might fall into a swoon. At +length, he ventured to approach and gradually touch him. The old knight started +to his feet, and was at once the same alert, active-minded, forecasting +director, which he had shown himself a little before. +</p> + +<p> +“You are right, boy,” he said, “we must be up and doing. They +lie, the roundheaded traitors, that call him dissolute and worthless! He hath +feelings worthy the son of the blessed Martyr. You saw, even in the extremity +of danger, he would have perilled his safety rather than take Alice’s +guidance when the silly wench seemed in doubt about going. Profligacy is +intensely selfish, and thinks not of the feelings of others. But hast thou +drawn bolt and bar after them? I vow I scarce saw when they left the +hall.” +</p> + +<p> +“I let them out at the little postern,” said the Colonel; +“and when I returned, I was afraid I had found you ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Joy—joy, only joy, Albert—I cannot allow a thought of doubt +to cross my breast. God will not desert the descendant of an hundred +kings—the rightful heir will not be given up to the ruffians. There was a +tear in his eye as he took leave of me—I am sure of it. Wouldst not die +for him, boy?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I lay my life down for him to-night,” said Albert, “I +would only regret it, because I should not hear of his escape to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, let us to this gear,” said the knight; “think’st +thou know’st enough of his manner, clad as thou art in his dress, to +induce the women to believe thee to be the page Kerneguy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Umph,” replied Albert, “it is not easy to bear out a +personification of the King, when women are in the case. But there is only a +very little light below, and I can try.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do so instantly,” said his father; “the knaves will be here +presently.” Albert accordingly left the apartment, while the knight +continued—“If the women be actually persuaded that Kerneguy be +still here, it will add strength to my plot—the beagles will open on a +false scent, and the royal stag be safe in cover ere they regain the slot of +him. Then to draw them on from hiding-place to hiding-place! Why, the east will +be grey before they have sought the half of them!—Yes, I will play at +bob-cherry with them, hold the bait to their nose which they are never to gorge +upon! I will drag a trail for them which will take them some time to puzzle +out.—But at what cost do I do this?” continued the old knight, +interrupting his own joyous soliloquy—“Oh, Absalom, Absalom, my +son! my son!—But let him go; he can but die as his fathers have died; and +in the cause for which they lived. But he comes—Hush!—Albert, hast +thou succeeded? hast thou taken royalty upon thee so as to pass current?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have, sir,” replied Albert; “the women will swear that +Louis Kerneguy was in the house this very last minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right, for they are good and faithful creatures,” said the knight, +“and would swear what was for his Majesty’s safety at any rate; yet +they will do it with more nature and effect, if they believe they are swearing +truth.—How didst thou impress the deceit upon them?” +</p> + +<p> +“By a trifling adoption of the royal manner, sir, not worth +mentioning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out, rogue!” replied the knight. “I fear the King’s +character will suffer under your mummery.” +</p> + +<p> +“Umph,” said Albert, muttering what he dared not utter +aloud—“were I to follow the example close up, I know whose +character would be in the greatest danger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now we must adjust the defence of the outworks, the signals, +&c. betwixt us both, and the best way to baffle the enemy for the longest +time possible.” He then again had recourse to the secret drawers of his +cabinet, and pulled out a piece of parchment, on which was a plan. +“This,” said he, “is a scheme of the citadel, as I call it, +which may hold out long enough after you have been forced to evacuate the +places of retreat you are already acquainted with. The ranger was always sworn +to keep this plan secret, save from one person only, in case of sudden +death.—Let us sit down and study it together.” +</p> + +<p> +They accordingly adjusted their measures in a manner which will better show +itself from what afterwards took place, than were we to state the various +schemes which they proposed, and provisions made against events that did not +arrive. +</p> + +<p> +At length young Lee, armed and provided with some food and liquor, took leave +of his father, and went and shut himself up in Victor Lee’s apartment, +from which was an opening to the labyrinth of private apartments, or +hiding-places, that had served the associates so well in the fantastic tricks +which they had played off at the expense of the Commissioners of the +Commonwealth. +</p> + +<p> +“I trust,” said Sir Henry, sitting down by his desk, after having +taken a tender farewell of his son, “that Rochecliffe has not blabbed out +the secret of the plot to yonder fellow Tomkins, who was not unlikely to prate +of it out of school.—But here am I seated—perhaps for the last +time, with my Bible on the one hand, and old Will on the other, prepared, thank +God, to die as I have lived.—I marvel they come not yet,” he said, +after waiting for some time—“I always thought the devil had a +smarter spur to give his agents, when they were upon his own special +service.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +But see, his face is black, and full of blood;<br/> +His eye-balls farther out than when he lived,<br/> +Staring full ghastly, like a strangled man;<br/> +His hair uprear’d—his nostrils stretch’d with struggling,<br/> +His hands abroad display’d, as one who grasp’d<br/> +And tugg’d for life, and was by strength subdued. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +H<small>ENRY</small> VI. P<small>ART</small> I. +</p> + +<p> +Had those whose unpleasant visit Sir Henry expected come straight to the Lodge, +instead of staying for three hours at Woodstock, they would have secured their +prey. But the Familist, partly to prevent the King’s escape, partly to +render himself of more importance in the affair, had represented the party at +the Lodge as being constantly on the alert, and had therefore inculcated upon +Cromwell the necessity of his remaining quiet until he (Tomkins) should appear +to give him notice that the household were retired to rest. On this condition +he undertook, not only to discover the apartment in which the unfortunate +Charles slept, but, if possible, to find some mode of fastening the door on the +outside, so as to render flight impossible. He had also promised to secure the +key of a postern, by which the soldiers might be admitted into the house +without exciting alarm. Nay, the matter might, by means of his local knowledge, +be managed, as he represented it, with such security, that he would undertake +to place his Excellency, or whomsoever he might appoint for the service, by the +side of Charles Stewart’s bed, ere he had slept off the last +night’s claret. Above all, he had stated, that, from the style of the old +house, there were many passages and posterns which must be carefully guarded +before the least alarm was caught by those within, otherwise the success of the +whole enterprise might be endangered. He had therefore besought Cromwell to +wait for him at the village, if he found him not there on his arrival; and +assured him that the marching and countermarching of soldiers was at present so +common, that even if any news were carried to the Lodge that fresh troops had +arrived in the borough, so ordinary a circumstance would not give them the +least alarm. He recommended that the soldiers chosen for this service should be +such as could be depended upon—no fainters in spirit—none who turn +back from Mount Gilead for fear of the Amalekites, but men of war, accustomed +to strike with the sword, and to need no second blow. Finally, he represented +that it would be wisely done if the General should put Pearson, or any other +officer whom he could completely trust, into the command of the detachment, and +keep his own person, if he should think it proper to attend, secret even from +the soldiers. +</p> + +<p> +All this man’s counsels Cromwell had punctually followed. He had +travelled in the van of this detachment of one hundred picked soldiers, whom he +had selected for the service, men of dauntless resolution, bred in a thousand +dangers, and who were steeled against all feelings of hesitation and +compassion, by the deep and gloomy fanaticism which was their chief principle +of action—men to whom, as their General, and no less as the chief among +the Elect, the commands of Oliver were like a commission from the Deity. +</p> + +<p> +Great and deep was the General’s mortification at the unexpected absence +of the personage on whose agency he so confidently reckoned, and many +conjectures he formed as to the cause of such mysterious conduct. Some times he +thought Tomkins had been overcome by liquor, a frailty to which Cromwell knew +him to be addicted; and when he held this opinion he discharged his wrath in +maledictions, which, of a different kind from the wild oaths and curses of the +cavaliers, had yet in them as much blasphemy, and more determined malevolence. +At other times he thought some unexpected alarm, or perhaps some drunken +cavalier revel, had caused the family of Woodstock Lodge to make later hours +than usual. To this conjecture, which appeared the most probable of any, his +mind often recurred; and it was the hope that Tomkins would still appear at the +rendezvous, which induced him to remain at the borough, anxious to receive +communication from his emissary, and afraid of endangering the success of the +enterprise by any premature exertion on his own part. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, Cromwell, finding it no longer possible to conceal his +personal presence, disposed of every thing so as to be ready at a +minute’s notice. Half his soldiers he caused to dismount, and had the +horses put into quarters; the other half were directed to keep their horses +saddled, and themselves ready to mount at a moment’s notice. The men were +brought into the house by turns, and had some refreshment, leaving a sufficient +guard on the horses, which was changed from time to time. +</p> + +<p> +Thus Cromwell waited with no little uncertainty, often casting an anxious eye +upon Colonel Everard, who, he suspected, could, if he chose it, well supply the +place of his absent confidant. Everard endured this calmly, with unaltered +countenance, and brow neither ruffled nor dejected. +</p> + +<p> +Midnight at length tolled, and it became necessary to take some decisive step. +Tomkins might have been treacherous; or, a suspicion which approached more near +to the reality, his intrigue might have been discovered, and he himself +murdered or kidnapped by the vengeful royalists. In a word, if any use was to +be made of the chance which fortune afforded of securing the most formidable +claimant of the supreme power, which he already aimed at, no farther time was +to be lost. He at length gave orders to Pearson to get the men under arms; he +directed him concerning the mode of forming them, and that they should march +with the utmost possible silence; or as it was given out in the orders, +“Even as Gideon marched in silence when he went down against the camp of +the Midianites, with only Phurah his servant. Peradventure,” continued +this strange document, “we too may learn of what yonder Midianites have +dreamed.” +</p> + +<p> +A single patrol, followed by a corporal and five steady, experienced soldiers, +formed the advanced guard of the party; then followed the main body. A +rear-guard of ten men guarded Everard and the minister. Cromwell required the +attendance of the former, as it might be necessary to examine him, or confront +him with others; and he carried Master Holdenough with him, because he might +escape if left behind, and perhaps raise some tumult in the village. The +Presbyterians, though they not only concurred with, but led the way in the +civil war, were at its conclusion highly dissatisfied with the ascendency of +the military sectaries, and not to be trusted as cordial agents in anything +where their interest was concerned. The infantry being disposed of as we have +noticed, marched off from the left of their line, Cromwell and Pearson, both on +foot, keeping at the head of the centre, or main body of the detachment. They +were all armed with petronels, short guns similar to the modern carabine, and, +like them, used by horsemen. They marched in the most profound silence and with +the utmost regularity, the whole body moving like one man. +</p> + +<p> +About one hundred yards behind the rearmost of the dismounted party, came the +troopers who remained on horseback; and it seemed as if even the irrational +animals were sensible to Cromwell’s orders, for the horses did not neigh, +and even appeared to place their feet on the earth cautiously, and with less +noise than usual. +</p> + +<p> +Their leader, full of anxious thoughts, never spoke, save to enforce by +whispers his caution respecting silence, while the men, surprised and delighted +to find themselves under the command of their renowned General, and destined, +doubtless, for some secret service of high import, used the utmost precaution +in attending to his reiterated orders. +</p> + +<p> +They marched down the street of the little borough in the order we have +mentioned. Few of the townsmen were abroad; and one or two, who had protracted +the orgies of the evening to that unusual hour, were too happy to escape the +notice of a strong party of soldiers, who often acted in the character of +police, to inquire about their purpose for being under arms so late, or the +route which they were pursuing. +</p> + +<p> +The external gate of the Chase had, ever since the party had arrived at +Woodstock, been strictly guarded by three file of troopers, to cut off all +communication between the Lodge and the town. Spitfire, Wildrake’s +emissary, who had often been a-bird-nesting, or on similar mischievous +excursions in the forest, had evaded these men’s vigilance by climbing +over a breach, with which he was well acquainted, in a different part of the +wall. +</p> + +<p> +Between this party and the advanced guard of Cromwell’s detachment, a +whispered challenge was exchanged, according to the rules of discipline. The +infantry entered the Park, and were followed by the cavalry, who were directed +to avoid the hard road, and ride as much as possible upon the turf which +bordered on the avenue. Here, too, an additional precaution was used, a file or +two of foot soldiers being detached to search the woods on either hand, and +make prisoner, or, in the event of resistance, put to death, any whom they +might find lurking there, under what pretence soever. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the weather began to show itself as propitious to Cromwell, as he +had found most incidents in the course of his successful career. The grey mist, +which had hitherto obscured everything, and rendered marching in the wood +embarrassing and difficult, had now given way to the moon, which, after many +efforts, at length forced her way through the vapour, and hung her dim dull +cresset in the heavens, which she enlightened, as the dying lamp of an +anchorite does the cell in which he reposes. The party were in sight of the +front of the palace, when Holdenough whispered to Everard, as they walked near +each other—“See ye not, yonder flutters the mysterious light in the +turret of the incontinent Rosamond? This night will try whether the devil of +the Sectaries or the devil of the Malignants shall prove the stronger. O, sing +jubilee, for the kingdom of Satan is divided against itself!” +</p> + +<p> +Here the divine was interrupted by a non-commissioned officer, who came +hastily, yet with noiseless steps, to say, in a low stern whisper— +“Silence, prisoner in the rear—silence on pain of death.” +</p> + +<p> +A moment afterwards the whole party stopped their march, the word halt being +passed from one to another, and instantly obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +The cause of this interruption was the hasty return of one of the flanking +party to the main body, bringing news to Cromwell that they had seen a light in +the wood at some distance on the left. +</p> + +<p> +“What can it be?” said Cromwell, his low stern voice, even in a +whisper, making itself distinctly heard. “Does it move, or is it +stationary?” +</p> + +<p> +“So far as we can judge, it moveth not,” answered the trooper. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange—there is no cottage near the spot where it is seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“So please your Excellency, it may be a device of Sathan,” said +Corporal Humgudgeon, snuffing through his nose; “he is mighty powerful in +these parts of late.” +</p> + +<p> +“So please your idiocy, thou art an ass,” said Cromwell; but, +instantly recollecting that the corporal had been one of the adjutators or +tribunes of the common soldiers, and was therefore to be treated with suitable +respect, he said, “Nevertheless, if it be the device of Satan, please it +the Lord we will resist him, and the foul slave shall fly from +us.—Pearson,” he said, resuming his soldierlike brevity, +“take four file, and see what is yonder—No—the knaves may +shrink from thee. Go thou straight to the Lodge—invest it in the way we +agreed, so that a bird shall not escape out of it—form an outward and an +inward ring of sentinels, but give no alarm until I come. Should any attempt to +escape, KILL them.”—He spoke that command with terrible +emphasis.—“Kill them on the spot,” he repeated, “be +they who or what they will. Better so than trouble the Commonwealth with +prisoners.” +</p> + +<p> +Pearson heard, and proceeded to obey his commander’s orders. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile, the future Protector disposed the small force which remained with +him in such a manner that they should approach from different points at once +the light which excited his suspicions, and gave them orders to creep as near +to it as they could, taking care not to lose each other’s support, and to +be ready to rush in at the same moment, when he should give the sign, which was +to be a loud whistle. Anxious to ascertain the truth with his own eyes, +Cromwell, who had by instinct all the habits of military foresight, which, in +others, are the result of professional education and long experience, advanced +upon the object of his curiosity. He skulked from tree to tree with the light +step and prowling sagacity of an Indian bush-fighter; and before any of his men +had approached so near as to descry them, he saw, by the lantern which was +placed on the ground, two men, who had been engaged in digging what seemed to +be an ill-made grave. Near them lay extended something wrapped in a +deer’s hide, which greatly resembled the dead body of a man. They spoke +together in a low voice, yet so that their dangerous auditor could perfectly +overhear what they said. +</p> + +<p> +“It is done at last,” said one; “the worst and hardest labour +I ever did in my life. I believe there is no luck about me left. My very arms +feel as if they did not belong to me; and, strange to tell, toil as hard as I +would, I could not gather warmth in my limbs.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have warmed me enough,” said Rochecliffe, breathing short with +fatigue. +</p> + +<p> +“But the cold lies at my heart,” said Joceline; “I scarce +hope ever to be warm again. It is strange, and a charm seems to be on us. Here +have we been nigh two hours in doing what Diggon the sexton would have done to +better purpose in half a one.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are wretched spadesmen enough,” answered Dr. Rochecliffe. +“Every man to his tools—thou to thy bugle-horn, and I to my papers +in cipher.—But do not be discouraged; it is the frost on the ground, and +the number of roots, which rendered our task difficult. And now, all due rites +done to this unhappy man, and having read over him the service of the Church, +<i>valeat quantum</i>, let us lay him decently in this place of last repose; +there will be small lack of him above ground. So cheer up thy heart, man, like +a soldier as thou art; we have read the service over his body; and should times +permit it, we will have him removed to consecrated ground, though he is all +unworthy of such favour. Here, help me to lay him in the earth; we will drag +briers and thorns over the spot, when we have shovelled dust upon dust; and do +thou think of this chance more manfully; and remember, thy secret is in thine +own keeping.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot answer for that,” said Joceline. “Methinks the very +night winds among the leaves will tell of what we have been +doing—methinks the trees themselves will say, ‘there is a dead +corpse lies among our roots.’ Witnesses are soon found when blood hath +been spilled.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are so, and that right early,” exclaimed Cromwell, starting +from the thicket, laying hold on Joceline, and putting a pistol to his head. At +any other period of his life, the forester would, even against the odds of +numbers, have made a desperate resistance; but the horror he had felt at the +slaughter of an old companion, although in defence of his own life, together +with fatigue and surprise, had altogether unmanned him, and he was seized as +easily as a sheep is secured by the butcher. Dr. Rochecliffe offered some +resistance, but was presently secured by the soldiers who pressed around him. +</p> + +<p> +“Look, some of you,” said Cromwell, “what corpse this is upon +whom these lewd sons of Belial have done a murder—Corporal Grace-be-here +Humgudgeon, see if thou knowest the face.” +</p> + +<p> +“I profess I do, even as I should do mine own in a mirror,” +snuffled the corporal, after looking on the countenance of the dead man by the +help of the lantern. “Of a verity it is our trusty brother in the faith, +Joseph Tomkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tomkins!” exclaimed Cromwell, springing forward and satisfying +himself with a glance at the features of the +corpse—“Tomkins!—and murdered, as the fracture of the temple +intimates!—dogs that ye are, confess the truth—You have murdered +him because you have discovered his treachery— I should say his true +spirit towards the Commonwealth of England, and his hatred of those complots in +which you would have engaged his honest simplicity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Grace-be-here Humgudgeon, “and then to misuse his +dead body with your papistical doctrines, as if you had crammed cold porridge +into its cold mouth. I pray thee, General, let these men’s bonds be made +strong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forbear, corporal,” said Cromwell; “our time +presses.—Friend, to you,—whom I believe to be Doctor Anthony +Rochecliffe by name and surname, I have to give the choice of being hanged at +daybreak to-morrow, or making atonement for the murder of one of the +Lord’s people, by telling what thou knowest of the secrets which are in +yonder house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, sir,” replied Rochecliffe, “you found me but in my +duty as a clergyman, interring the dead; and respecting answering your +questions, I am determined myself, and do advise my fellow-sufferer on this +occasion”— +</p> + +<p> +“Remove him,” said Cromwell; “I know his stiffneckedness of +old, though I have made him plough in my furrow, when he thought he was turning +up his own swathe—Remove him to the rear, and bring hither the other +fellow.—Come thou here—this +way—closer—closer.—Corporal Grace-be-here, do thou keep thy +hand upon the belt with which he is bound. We must take care of our life for +the sake of this distracted country, though, lack-a-day, for its own proper +worth we could peril it for a pin’s point.—Now, mark me, fellow, +choose betwixt buying thy life by a full confession, or being tucked presently +up to one of these old oaks—How likest thou that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, master,” answered the under-keeper, affecting more +rusticity than was natural to him, (for his frequent intercourse with Sir Henry +Lee had partly softened and polished his manners,) “I think the oak is +like to bear a lusty acorn—that is all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dally not with me, friend,” continued Oliver; “I profess to +thee in sincerity I am no trifler. What guests have you seen at yonder house +called the Lodge?” +</p> + +<p> +“Many a brave guest in my day, I’se warrant ye, master,” said +Joceline. “Ah, to see how the chimneys used to smoke some twelve years +back! Ah, sir, a sniff of it would have dined a poor man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out, rascal!” said the General, “dost thou jeer me? Tell me +at once what guests have been of late in the Lodge—and look thee, friend, +be assured, that in rendering me this satisfaction, thou shalt not only rescue +thy neck from the halter, but render also an acceptable service to the State, +and one which I will see fittingly rewarded. For, truly, I am not of those who +would have the rain fall only on the proud and stately plants, but rather +would, so far as my poor wishes and prayers are concerned, that it should also +fall upon the lowly and humble grass and corn, that the heart of the husbandman +may be rejoiced, and that as the cedar of Lebanon waxes in its height, in its +boughs, and in its roots, so may the humble and lowly hyssop that groweth upon +the walls flourish, and—and, truly—Understand’st thou me, +knave?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not entirely, if it please your honour,” said Joceline; “but +it sounds as if you were preaching a sermon, and has a marvellous twang of +doctrine with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, in one word—thou knowest there is one Louis Kerneguy, or +Carnego, or some such name, in hiding at the Lodge yonder?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, sir,” replied the under-keeper, “there have been many +coming and going since Worcester-field; and how should I know who they +are?—my service is out of doors, I trow.” +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand pounds,” said Cromwell, “do I tell down to thee, +if thou canst place that boy in my power.” +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand pounds is a marvellous matter, sir,” said Joceline; +“but I have more blood on my hand than I like already. I know not how the +price of life may thrive—and, ’scape or hang, I have no mind to +try.” +</p> + +<p> +“Away with him to the rear,” said the General; “and let him +not speak with his yoke-fellow yonder—Fool that I am, to waste time in +expecting to get milk from mules.—Move on towards the Lodge.” +</p> + +<p> +They moved with the same silence as formerly, notwithstanding the difficulties +which they encountered from being unacquainted with the road and its various +intricacies. At length they were challenged, in a low voice, by one of their +own sentinels, two concentric circles of whom had been placed around the Lodge, +so close to each other, as to preclude the possibility of an individual +escaping from within. The outer guard was maintained partly by horse upon the +roads and open lawn, and where the ground was broken and bushy, by infantry. +The inner circle was guarded by foot soldiers only. The whole were in the +highest degree alert, expecting some interesting and important consequences +from the unusual expedition on which they were engaged. +</p> + +<p> +“Any news, Pearson?” said the General to his aide-de-camp, who came +instantly to report to his superior. +</p> + +<p> +He received for answer, “None.” +</p> + +<p> +Cromwell led his officer forward just opposite to the door of the Lodge, and +there paused betwixt the circles of guards, so that their conversation could +not be overheard. +</p> + +<p> +He then pursued his enquiry, demanding, “Were there any lights—any +appearances of stirring—any attempt at sally—any preparation for +defence?” +</p> + +<p> +“All as silent as the valley of the shadow of death—Even as the +vale of Jehosaphat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pshaw! tell me not of Jehosaphat, Pearson,” said Cromwell. +“These words are good for others, but not for thee. Speak plainly, and +like a blunt soldier as thou art. Each man hath his own mode of speech; and +bluntness, not sanctity, is thine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, nothing has been stirring,” said +Pearson.—“Yet peradventure”— +</p> + +<p> +“Peradventure not me,” said Cromwell, “or thou wilt tempt me +to knock thy teeth out. I ever distrust a man when he speaks after another +fashion from his own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Zounds! let me speak to an end,” answered Pearson, “and I +will speak in what language your Excellency will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thy zounds, friend,” said Oliver, “showeth little of grace, +but much of sincerity. Go to then—thou knowest I love and trust thee. +Hast thou kept close watch? It behoves us to know that, before giving the +alarm.” +</p> + +<p> +“On my soul,” said Pearson, “I have watched as closely as a +cat at a mouse-hole. It is beyond possibility that any thing could have eluded +our vigilance, or even stirred within the house, without our being aware of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Tis well,” said Cromwell; “thy services shall not be +forgotten, Pearson. Thou canst not preach and pray, but thou canst obey thine +orders, Gilbert Pearson, and that may make amends.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thank your Excellency,” replied Pearson; “but I beg leave +to chime in with the humours of the times. A poor fellow hath no right to hold +himself singular.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, expecting Cromwell’s orders what next was to be done, and, +indeed, not a little surprised that the General’s active and prompt +spirit had suffered him during a moment so critical to cast away a thought upon +a circumstance so trivial as his officer’s peculiar mode of expressing +himself. He wondered still more, when, by a brighter gleam of moonshine than he +had yet enjoyed, he observed that Cromwell was standing motionless, his hands +supported upon his sword, which he had taken out of the belt, and his stern +brows bent on the ground. He waited for some time impatiently, yet afraid to +interfere, lest he should awaken this unwonted fit of ill-timed melancholy into +anger and impatience. He listened to the muttering sounds which escaped from +the half-opening lips of his principal, in which the words, “hard +necessity,” which occurred more than once, were all of which the sense +could be distinguished. “My Lord-General,” at length he said, +“time flies.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peace, busy fiend, and urge me not!” said Cromwell. +“Think’st thou, like other fools, that I have made a paction with +the devil for success, and am bound to do my work within an appointed hour, +lest the spell should lose its force?” +</p> + +<p> +“I only think, my Lord-General,” said Pearson, “that Fortune +has put into your coffer what you have long desired to make prize of, and that +you hesitate.” +</p> + +<p> +Cromwell sighed deeply as he answered, “Ah, Pearson, in this troubled +world, a man, who is called like me to work great things in Israel, had need to +be, as the poets feign, a thing made of hardened metal, immovable to feelings +of human charities, impassible, resistless. Pearson, the world will hereafter, +perchance, think of me as being such a one as I have described, ‘an iron +man, and made of iron mould.’—Yet they will wrong my +memory—my heart is flesh, and my blood is mild as that of others. When I +was a sportsman, I have wept for the gallant heron that was struck down, by my +hawk, and sorrowed for the hare which lay screaming under the jaws of my +greyhound; and canst thou think it a light thing to me, that, the blood of this +lad’s father lying in some measure upon my head, I should now put in +peril that of the son? They are of the kindly race of English sovereigns, and, +doubtless, are adored like to demigods by those of their own party. I am called +Parricide, Blood-thirsty Usurper, already, for shedding the blood of one man, +that the plague might be stayed—or as Achan was slain that Israel might +thereafter stand against the face of their enemies. Nevertheless, who has spoke +unto me graciously since that high deed? Those who acted in the matter with me +are willing that I should be the scape-goat of the atonement—those who +looked on and helped not, bear themselves now as if they had been borne down by +violence; and while I looked that they should shout applause on me, because of +the victory of Worcester, whereof the Lord had made me the poor instrument, +they look aside to say, ‘Ha! ha! the King-killer, the +Parricide—soon shall his place be made desolate.’—Truly it is +a great thing, Gilbert Pearson, to be lifted above the multitude; but when one +feeleth that his exaltation is rather hailed with hate and scorn than with love +and reverence—in sooth, it is still a hard matter for a mild, +tender-conscienced, infirm spirit to bear—and God be my witness, that, +rather than do this new deed, I would shed my own best heart’s-blood in a +pitched field, twenty against one.” Here he fell into a flood of tears, +which he sometimes was wont to do. This extremity of emotion was of a singular +character. It was not actually the result of penitence, and far less that of +absolute hypocrisy, but arose merely from the temperature of that remarkable +man, whose deep policy, and ardent enthusiasm, were intermingled with a strain +of hypochondriacal passion, which often led him to exhibit scenes of this sort, +though seldom, as now, when he was called to the execution of great +undertakings. +</p> + +<p> +Pearson, well acquainted as he was with the peculiarities of his General, was +baffled and confounded by this fit of hesitation and contrition, by which his +enterprising spirit appeared to be so suddenly paralysed. After a +moment’s silence, he said, with some dryness of manner, “If this be +the case, it is a pity your Excellency came hither. Corporal Humgudgeon and I, +the greatest saint and greatest sinner in your army, had done the deed, and +divided the guilt and the honour betwixt us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” said Cromwell, as if touched to the quick, “wouldst +thou take the prey from the lion?” +</p> + +<p> +“If the lion behaves like a village cur,” said Pearson boldly, +“who now barks and seems as if he would tear all to pieces, and now flies +from a raised stick or a stone, I know not why I should fear him. If Lambert +had been here, there had been less speaking and more action.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lambert! What of Lambert?” said Cromwell, very sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Only,” said Pearson, “that I long since hesitated whether I +should follow your Excellency or him—and I begin to be uncertain whether +I have made the best choice, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lambert!” exclaimed Cromwell impatiently, yet softening his voice +lest he should be overheard descanting on the character of his +rival,—“What is Lambert?—a tulip-fancying fellow, whom nature +intended for a Dutch gardener at Delft or Rotterdam. Ungrateful as thou art, +what could Lambert have done for thee?” +</p> + +<p> +“He would not,” answered Pearson, “have stood here hesitating +before a locked door, when fortune presented the means of securing, by one +blow, his own fortune, and that of all who followed him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art right, Gilbert Pearson,” said Cromwell, grasping his +officer’s hand, and strongly pressing it. “Be the half of this bold +accompt thine, whether the reckoning be on earth or heaven.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be the whole of it mine hereafter,” said Pearson hardily, +“so your Excellency have the advantage of it upon earth. Step back to the +rear till I force the door—there may be danger, if despair induce them to +make a desperate sally.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if they do sally, is there one of my Ironsides who fears fire or +steel less than myself?” said the General. “Let ten of the most +determined men follow us, two with halberts, two with petronels, the others +with pistols—Let all their arms be loaded, and fire without hesitation, +if there is any attempt to resist or to sally forth—Let Corporal +Humgudgeon be with them, and do thou remain here, and watch against escape, as +thou wouldst watch for thy salvation.” +</p> + +<p> +The General then struck at the door with the hilt of his sword—at first +with a single blow or two, then with a reverberation of strokes that made the +ancient building ring again. This noisy summons was repeated once or twice +without producing the least effect. +</p> + +<p> +“What can this mean?” said Cromwell; “they cannot surely have +fled, and left the house empty.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Pearson, “I will ensure you against that; but +your Excellency strikes so fiercely, you allow no time for an answer. Hark! I +hear the baying of a hound, and the voice of a man who is quieting +him—Shall we break in at once, or hold parley?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will speak to them first,” said Cromwell.—“Hollo! +who is within there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it enquires?” answered Sir Henry Lee from the interior; +“or what want you here at this dead hour?” +</p> + +<p> +“We come by warrant of the Commonwealth of England,” said the +General. +</p> + +<p> +“I must see your warrant ere I undo either bolt or latch,” replied +the knight; “we are enough of us to make good the castle: neither I nor +my fellows will deliver it up but upon good quarter and conditions; and we will +not treat for these save in fair daylight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Since you will not yield to our right, you must try our might,” +replied Cromwell. “Look to yourselves within; the door will be in the +midst of you in five minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look to yourselves without,” replied the stout-hearted Sir Henry; +“we will pour our shot upon you, if you attempt the least +violence.” +</p> + +<p> +But, alas! while he assumed this bold language, his whole garrison consisted of +two poor terrified women; for his son, in conformity with the plan which they +had fixed upon, had withdrawn from the hall into the secret recesses of the +palace. +</p> + +<p> +“What can they be doing now, sir?” said Phœbe, hearing a noise as +it were of a carpenter turning screw-nails, mixed with a low buzz of men +talking. +</p> + +<p> +“They are fixing a petard,” said the knight, with great composure. +“I have noted thee for a clever wench, Phœbe, and I will explain it to +thee: ’Tis a metal pot, shaped much like one of the roguish knaves’ +own sugarloaf hats, supposing it had narrower brims—it is charged with +some few pounds of fine gunpowder. Then”— +</p> + +<p> +“Gracious! we shall be all blown up!” exclaimed Phœbe,—the +word gunpowder being the only one which she understood in the knight’s +description. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit, foolish girl. Pack old Dame Jellicot into the embrasure of +yonder window,” said the knight, “on that side of the door, and we +will ensconce ourselves on this, and we shall have time to finish my +explanation, for they have bungling engineers. We had a clever French fellow at +Newark would have done the job in the firing of a pistol.” +</p> + +<p> +They had scarce got into the place of security when the knight proceeded with +his description.—“The petard being formed, as I tell you, is +secured with a thick and strong piece of plank, termed the madrier, and the +whole being suspended, or rather secured against the gate to be +forced—But thou mindest me not?” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I, Sir Henry,” she said, “within reach of such a +thing as you speak of?—O Lord! I shall go mad with very terror—we +shall be crushed—blown up—in a few minutes!” +</p> + +<p> +“We are secure from the explosion,” replied the knight, gravely, +“which will operate chiefly in a forward direction into the middle of the +chamber; and from any fragments that may fly laterally, we are sufficiently +guarded by this deep embrasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“But they will slay us when they enter,” said Phœbe. +</p> + +<p> +“They will give thee fair quarter, wench,” said Sir Henry; +“and if I do not bestow a brace of balls on that rogue engineer, it is +because I would not incur the penalty inflicted by martial law, which condemns +to the edge of the sword all persons who attempt to defend an untenable post. +Not that I think the rigour of the law could reach Dame Jellicot or thyself, +Phœbe, considering that you carry no arms. If Alice had been here she might +indeed have done somewhat, for she can use a birding-piece.” +</p> + +<p> +Phœbe might have appealed to her own deeds of that day, as more allied to +feats of mêlée and battle, than any which her young lady ever acted; but she +was in an agony of inexpressible terror, expecting, from the knight’s +account of the petard, some dreadful catastrophe, of what nature she did not +justly understand, notwithstanding his liberal communication on the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“They are strangely awkward at it,” said Sir Henry; “little +Boutirlin would have blown the house up before now.—Ah! he is a fellow +would take the earth like a rabbit—if he had been here, never may I stir +but he would have countermined them ere now, and +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +—‘’Tis sport to have the engineer<br/> +Hoist with his own petard.’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +as our immortal Shakspeare has it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord, the poor mad old gentleman,” thought +Phœbe—“Oh, sir, had you not better leave alone playbooks, and +think of your end?” uttered she aloud, in sheer terror and vexation of +spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“If I had not made up my mind to that many days since,” answered +the knight, “I had not now met this hour with a free bosom— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘As gentle and as jocund as to rest,<br/> +Go I to death—truth hath a quiet breast.’” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, a broad glare of light flashed from without, through the windows +of the hall, and betwixt the strong iron stanchions with which they were +secured—a broad discoloured light it was, which shed a red and dusky +illumination on the old armour and weapons, as if it had been the reflection of +a conflagration. Phœbe screamed aloud, and, forgetful of reverence in the +moment of passion, clung close to the knight’s cloak and arm, while Dame +Jellicot, from her solitary niche, having the use of her eyes, though bereft of +her hearing, yelled like an owl when the moon breaks out suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“Take care, good Phœbe,” said the knight; “you will prevent +my using my weapon if you hang upon me thus.—The bungling fools cannot +fix their petard without the use of torches! Now let me take the advantage of +this interval.—Remember what I told thee, and how to put off time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord—ay, sir,” said Phœbe, “I will say any thing, +Oh, Lord, that it were but over!—Ah! ah!”—(two prolonged +screams)—“I hear something hissing like a serpent.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the fusee, as we martialists call it,” replied the knight; +“that is, Phœbe, the match which fires the petard, and which is longer +or shorter, according to the distance.” +</p> + +<p> +Here the knight’s discourse was cut short by a dreadful explosion, which, +as he had foretold, shattered the door, strong as it was, to pieces, and +brought down the glass clattering from the windows with all the painted heroes +and heroines, who had been recorded on that fragile place of memory for +centuries. The women shrieked incessantly, and were answered by the bellowing +of Bevis, though shut up at a distance from the scene of action. The knight, +shaking Phœbe from him with difficulty, advanced into the hall to meet those +who rushed in, with torches lighted and weapons prepared. +</p> + +<p> +“Death to all who resist—life to those who surrender!” +exclaimed Cromwell, stamping with his foot. “Who commands this +garrison?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Henry Lee of Ditchley,” answered the old knight, stepping +forward; “who, having no other garrison than two weak women, is compelled +to submit to what he would willingly have resisted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Disarm the inveterate and malignant rebel,” cried Oliver. +“Art thou not ashamed, sir, to detain me before the door of a house which +you had no force to defend? Wearest thou so white a beard, and knowest thou +not, that to refuse surrendering an indefensible post, by the martial law, +deserves hanging?” +</p> + +<p> +“My beard and I,” said Sir Henry, “have settled that matter +between us, and agree right cordially. It is better to run the risk of being +hanged, like honest men, than to give up our trust like cowards and +traitors.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! say’st thou?” said Cromwell; “thou hast powerful +motives, I doubt not, for running thy head into a noose. But I will speak with +thee by and by.—Ho! Pearson, Gilbert Pearson, take this scroll—Take +the elder woman with thee—Let her guide you to the various places therein +mentioned—Search every room therein set down, and arrest, or slay upon +the slightest resistance, whomsoever you find there. Then note those places +marked as commanding points for cutting off intercourse through the +mansion—the landing-places of the great staircase, the great gallery, and +so forth. Use the woman civilly. The plan annexed to the scroll will point out +the posts, even if she prove stupid or refractory. Meanwhile, the corporal, +with a party, will bring the old man and the girl there to some +apartment—the parlour, I think, called Victor Lee’s, will do as +well as another.—We will then be out of this stifling smell of +gunpowder.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, and without requiring any farther assistance or guidance, he walked +towards the apartment he had named. Sir Henry had his own feelings, when he saw +the unhesitating decision with which the General led the way, and which seemed +to intimate a more complete acquaintance with the various localities of +Woodstock than was consistent with his own present design, to engage the +Commonwealth party in a fruitless search through the intricacies of the Lodge. +</p> + +<p> +“I will now ask thee a few questions, old man,” said the General, +when they had arrived in the room; “and I warn thee, that hope of pardon +for thy many and persevering efforts against the Commonwealth, can be no +otherwise merited than by the most direct answers to the questions I am about +to ask.” +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry bowed. He would have spoken, but he felt his temper rising high, and +became afraid it might be exhausted before the part he had settled to play, in +order to afford the King time for his escape, should be brought to an end. +</p> + +<p> +“What household have you had here, Sir Henry Lee, within these few +days—what guests—what visitors? We know that your means of +house-keeping are not so profuse as usual, so the catalogue cannot be +burdensome to your memory.” +</p> + +<p> +“Far from it,” replied the knight, with unusual command of temper, +“my daughter, and latterly my son, have been my guests; and I have had +these females, and one Joceline Joliffe, to attend upon us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not ask after the regular members of your household, but after +those who have been within your gates, either as guests, or as malignant +fugitives taking shelter.” +</p> + +<p> +“There may have been more of both kinds, sir, than I, if it please your +valour, am able to answer for,” replied the knight. “I remember my +kinsman Everard was here one morning—Also, I bethink me, a follower of +his, called Wildrake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you not also receive a young cavalier, called Louis Garnegey?” +said Cromwell. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember no such name, were I to hang for it,” said the knight. +“Kerneguy, or some such word,” said the General; “we will not +quarrel for a sound.” +</p> + +<p> +“A Scotch lad, called Louis Kerneguy, was a guest of mine,” said +Sir Henry, “and left me this morning for Dorsetshire.” +</p> + +<p> +“So late!” exclaimed Cromwell, stamping with his +foot—“How fate contrives to baffle us, even when she seems most +favourable!—What direction did he take, old man?” continued +Cromwell—“what horse did he ride—who went with him?” +</p> + +<p> +“My son went with him,” replied the knight; “he brought him +here as the son of a Scottish lord.—I pray you, sir, to be finished with +these questions; for although I owe thee, as Will Shakspeare says, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Respect for thy great place, and let the devil<br/> +Be sometimes honoured for his burning throne,— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +yet I feel my patience wearing thin.” +</p> + +<p> +Cromwell here whispered to the corporal, who in turn uttered orders to two +soldiers, who left the room. “Place the knight aside; we will now examine +the servant damsel,” said the General.—“Dost them +know,” said he to Phœbe, “of the presence of one Louis Kerneguy, +calling himself a Scotch page, who came here a few days since?” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely, sir,” she replied, “I cannot easily forget him; and +I warrant no well-looking wench that comes into his way will be like to forget +him either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aha,” said Cromwell, “sayst thou so? truly I believe the +woman will prove the truer witness.—When did he leave this house?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I know nothing of his movements, not I,” said Phœbe; +“I am only glad to keep out of his way. But if he have actually gone +hence, I am sure he was here some two hours since, for he crossed me in the +lower passage, between the hall and the kitchen.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you know it was he?” demanded Cromwell. +</p> + +<p> +“By a rude enough token,” said Phœbe.—“La, sir, you do +ask such questions!” she added, hanging down her head. +</p> + +<p> +Humgudgeon here interfered, taking upon himself the freedom of a co-adjutor. +“Verily,” he said, “if what the damsel is called to speak +upon hath aught unseemly, I crave your Excellency’s permission to +withdraw, not desiring that my nightly meditations may be disturbed with tales +of such a nature.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, your honour,” said Phœbe, “I scorn the old man’s +words, in the way of seemliness or unseemliness either. Master Louis did but +snatch a kiss, that is the truth of it, if it must be told.” +</p> + +<p> +Here Humgudgeon groaned deeply, while his Excellency avoided laughing with some +difficulty. “Thou hast given excellent tokens, Phœbe,” he said; +“and if they be true, as I think they seem to be, thou shalt not lack thy +reward.—And here comes our spy from the stables.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are not the least signs,” said the trooper, “that +horses have been in the stables for a month—there is no litter in the +stalls, no hay in the racks, the corn-bins are empty, and the mangers are full +of cobwebs.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, ay,” said the old knight, “I have seen when I kept +twenty good horses in these stalls, with many a groom and stable-boy to attend +them.” +</p> + +<p> +“In the meanwhile,” said Cromwell, “their present state tells +little for the truth of your own story, that there were horses to-day, on which +this Kerneguy and your son fled from justice.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not say that the horses were kept there,” said the knight. +“I have horses and stables elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fie, fie, for shame, for shame!” said the General; “can a +white-bearded man, I ask it once more, be a false witness?” +</p> + +<p> +“Faith, sir,” said Sir Henry Lee, “it is a thriving trade, +and I wonder not that you who live on it are so severe in prosecuting +interlopers. But it is the times, and those who rule the times, that make +grey-beards deceivers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art facetious friend, as well as daring in thy malignity,” +said Cromwell; “but credit me, I will cry quittance with you ere I am +done. Whereunto lead these doors?” +</p> + +<p> +“To bedrooms,” answered the knight. +</p> + +<p> +“Bedrooms! only to bedrooms?” said the Republican General, in a +voice which indicated such was the internal occupation of his thoughts, that he +had not fully understood the answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord, sir,” said the knight, “why should you make it so +strange? I say these doors lead to bedrooms—to places where honest men +sleep, and rogues lie awake.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are running up a farther account, Sir Henry,” said the +General; “but we will balance it once and for all.” +</p> + +<p> +During the whole of the scene, Cromwell, whatever might be the internal +uncertainty of his mind, maintained the most strict temperance in language and +manner, just as if he had no farther interest in what was passing, than as a +military man employed in discharging the duty enjoined him by his superiors. +But the restraint upon his passion was but +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The torrent’s smoothness ere it dash below.”<a href="#fn33.1" name="fnref33.1" id="fnref33.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn33.1" id="fn33.1"></a> <a href="#fnref33.1">[1]</a> +But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth?<br/> +The torrent’s smoothness ere it dash, below.<br/> + C<small>AMPBELL’S</small> <i>Gertrude of Wyoming</i>. +</p> + +<p> +The course of his resolution was hurried on even more forcibly, because no +violence of expression attended or announced its current. He threw himself into +a chair, with a countenance that indicated no indecision of mind, but a +determination which awaited only the signal for action. Meanwhile the knight, +as if resolved in nothing to forego the privileges of his rank and place, sat +himself down in turn, and putting on his hat, which lay on a table, regarded +the General with a calm look of fearless indifference. The soldiers stood +around, some holding the torches, which illuminated the apartment with a lurid +and sombre glare of light, the others resting upon their weapons. Phœbe, with +her hands folded, her eyes turned upwards till the pupils were scarce visible, +and every shade of colour banished from her ruddy cheek, stood like one in +immediate apprehension of the sentence of death being pronounced, and instant +execution commanded. +</p> + +<p> +Heavy steps were at last heard, and Pearson and some of the soldiers returned. +This seemed to be what Cromwell waited for. He started up, and asked hastily, +“Any news, Pearson? any prisoners—any malignants slain in thy +defence?” +</p> + +<p> +“None, so please your Excellency,” said the officer. +</p> + +<p> +“And are thy sentinels all carefully placed, as Tomkins’ scroll +gave direction, and with fitting orders?” +</p> + +<p> +“With the most deliberate care,” said Pearson. +</p> + +<p> +“Art thou very sure,” said Cromwell, pulling him a little to one +side, “that this is all well and duly cared for? Bethink thee, that when +we engage ourselves in the private communications, all will be lost should the +party we look for have the means of dodging us by an escape into the more open +rooms, and from thence perhaps into the forest.” +</p> + +<p> +“My Lord-General,” answered Pearson, “if placing the guards +on the places pointed out in this scroll be sufficient, with the strictest +orders to stop, and, if necessary, to stab or shoot, whoever crosses their +post, such orders are given to men who will not fail to execute them. If more +is necessary, your Excellency has only to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“No—no—no, Pearson,” said the General, “thou hast +done well.—This night over, and let it end but as we hope, thy reward +shall not be wanting.—And now to business.—Sir Henry Lee, undo me +the secret spring of yonder picture of your ancestor. Nay, spare yourself the +trouble and guilt of falsehood or equivocation, and, I say, undo me that spring +presently.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I acknowledge you for my master, and wear your livery, I may obey +your commands,” answered the knight; “even then I would need first +to understand them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wench,” said Cromwell, addressing Phœbe, “go thou undo the +spring—you could do it fast enough when you aided at the gambols of the +demons of Woodstock, and terrified even Mark Everard, who, I judged, had more +sense.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh Lord, sir, what shall I do?” said Phœbe, looking to the +knight; “they know all about it. What shall I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“For thy life, hold out to the last, wench! Every minute is worth a +million.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha! heard you that, Pearson?” said Cromwell to the officer; then, +stamping with his foot, he added, “Undo the spring, or I will else use +levers and wrenching-irons—Or, ha! another petard were well +bestowed— Call the engineer.” +</p> + +<p> +“O Lord, sir,” cried Phœbe, “I shall never live another +peter—I will open the spring.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do as thou wilt,” said Sir Henry; “it shall profit them but +little.” +</p> + +<p> +Whether from real agitation, or from a desire to gain time, Phœbe was some +minutes ere she could get the spring to open; it was indeed secured with art, +and the machinery on which it acted was concealed in the frame of the portrait. +The whole, when fastened, appeared quite motionless, and betrayed, as when +examined by Colonel Everard, no external mark of its being possible to remove +it. It was now withdrawn, however, and showed a narrow recess, with steps which +ascended on one side into the thickness of the wall. Cromwell was now like a +greyhound slipped from the leash with the prey in full +view.—“Up,” he cried, “Pearson, thou art swifter than +I—Up thou next, corporal.” With more agility than could have been +expected from his person or years, which were past the meridian of life, and +exclaiming, “Before, those with the torches!” he followed the +party, like an eager huntsman in the rear of his hounds, to encourage at once +and direct them, as they penetrated into the labyrinth described by Dr. +Rochecliffe in the “Wonders of Woodstock.” +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The King, therefore, for his defence<br/> + Against the furious Queen,<br/> +At Woodstock builded such a bower,<br/> + As never yet was seen.<br/> +Most curiously that bower was built,<br/> + Of stone and timber strong;<br/> +An hundred and fifty doors<br/> + Did to this bower belong;<br/> +And they so cunningly contrived,<br/> + With turnings round about,<br/> +That none but with a clew of thread<br/> + Could enter in or out. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +B<small>ALLAD OF</small> F<small>AIR</small> R<small>OSAMOND</small>. +</p> + +<p> +The tradition of the country, as well as some historical evidence, confirmed +the opinion that there existed, within the old Royal Lodge at Woodstock, a +labyrinth, or connected series of subterranean passages, built chiefly by Henry +II., for the security of his mistress, Rosamond Clifford, from the jealousy of +his Queen, the celebrated Eleanor. Dr. Rochecliffe, indeed, in one of those +fits of contradiction with which antiquaries are sometimes seized, was bold +enough to dispute the alleged purpose of the perplexed maze of rooms and +passages, with which the walls of the ancient palace were perforated; but the +fact was undeniable, that in raising the fabric some Norman architect had +exerted the utmost of the complicated art, which they have often shown +elsewhere, in creating secret passages, and chambers of retreat and +concealment. There were stairs, which were ascended merely, as it seemed, for +the purpose of descending again—passages, which, after turning and +winding for a considerable way, returned to the place where they set +out—there were trapdoors and hatchways, panels and portcullises. Although +Oliver was assisted by a sort of ground-plan, made out and transmitted by +Joseph Tomkins, whose former employment in Dr. Rochecliffe’s service had +made him fully acquainted with the place, it was found imperfect; and, +moreover, the most serious obstacles to their progress occurred in the shape of +strong doors, party-walls, and iron-grates—so that the party blundered on +in the dark, uncertain whether they were not going farther from, rather than +approaching, the extremity of the labyrinth. They were obliged to send for +mechanics, with sledge-hammers and other instruments, to force one or two of +those doors, which resisted all other means of undoing them. Labouring along in +these dusky passages, where, from time to time, they were like to be choked by +the dust which their acts of violence excited, the soldiers were obliged to be +relieved oftener than once, and the bulky Corporal Grace-be-here himself puffed +and blew like a grampus that has got into shoal water. Cromwell alone +continued, with unabated zeal, to push on his researches—to encourage the +soldiers, by the exhortations which they best understood, against fainting for +lack of faith—and to secure, by sentinels at proper places, possession of +the ground which they had already explored. His acute and observing eye +detected, with a sneering smile, the cordage and machinery by which the bed of +poor Desborough had been inverted, and several remains of the various +disguises, as well as private modes of access, by which Desborough, Bletson, +and Harrison, had been previously imposed upon. He pointed them out to Pearson, +with no farther comment than was implied in the exclamation, “The simple +fools!” +</p> + +<p> +But his assistants began to lose heart and be discouraged, and required all his +spirit to raise theirs. He then called their attention to voices which they +seemed to hear before them, and urged these as evidence that they were moving +on the track of some enemy of the Commonwealth, who, for the execution of his +malignant plots, had retreated into these extraordinary fastnesses. +</p> + +<p> +The spirits of the men became at last downcast, notwithstanding all this +encouragement. They spoke to each other in whispers, of the devils of +Woodstock, who might be all the while decoying them forward to a room said to +exist in the Palace, where the floor, revolving on an axis, precipitated those +who entered into a bottomless abyss. Humgudgeon hinted, that he had consulted +the Scripture that morning by way of lot, and his fortune had been to alight on +the passage, “Eutychus fell down from the third loft.” The energy +and authority of Cromwell, however, and the refreshment of some food and strong +waters, reconciled them to pursuing their task. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, with all their unwearied exertions, morning dawned on the search +before they had reached Dr. Rochecliffe’s sitting apartment, into which, +after all, they obtained entrance by a mode much more difficult than that which +the Doctor himself employed. But here their ingenuity was long at fault. From +the miscellaneous articles that were strewed around, and the preparations made +for food and lodging, it seemed they had gained the very citadel of the +labyrinth; but though various passages opened from it, they all terminated in +places with which they were already acquainted, or communicated with the other +parts of the house, where their own sentinels assured them none had passed. +Cromwell remained long in deep uncertainty. Meantime he directed Pearson to +take charge of the ciphers, and more important papers which lay on the table. +“Though there is little there,” he said, “that I have not +already known, by means of Trusty Tomkins—Honest Joseph—for an +artful and thorough-paced agent, the like of thee is not left in +England.” +</p> + +<p> +After a considerable pause, during which he sounded with the pommel of his +sword almost every stone in the building, and every plank on the floor, the +General gave orders to bring the old knight and Dr. Rochecliffe to the spot, +trusting that he might work out of them some explanation of the secrets of this +apartment. +</p> + +<p> +“So please your Excellency, to let me deal with him,” said Pearson, +who was a true soldier of fortune, and had been a buccaneer in the West Indies, +“I think that, by a whipcord twitched tight round their forehead, and +twisted about with a pistol-but, I could make either the truth start from their +lips, or the eyes from their head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Out upon thee, Pearson!” said Cromwell, with abhorrence; “we +have no warrant for such cruelty, neither as Englishmen nor Christians. We may +slay malignants as we crush noxious animals, but to torture them is a deadly +sin; for it is written, ‘He made them to be pitied of those who carried +them captive.’ Nay, I recall the order even for their examination, +trusting that wisdom will be granted us without it, to discover their most +secret devices.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause accordingly, during which an idea seized upon +Cromwell’s imagination—“Bring me hither,” he said, +“yonder stool;” and placing it beneath one of the windows, of which +there were two so high in the wall as not to be accessible from the floor, he +clambered up into the entrance of the window, which was six or seven feet deep, +corresponding with the thickness of the wall. “Come up hither, +Pearson,” said the General; “but ere thou comest, double the guard +at the foot of the turret called Love’s Ladder, and bid them bring up the +other petard—So now, come thou hither.” +</p> + +<p> +The inferior officer, however brave in the field, was one of those whom a great +height strikes with giddiness and sickness. He shrunk back from the view of the +precipice, on the verge of which Cromwell was standing with complete +indifference, till the General, catching the hand of his follower, pulled him +forward as far as he would advance. “I think,” said the General, +“I have found the clew, but by this light it is no easy one! See you, we +stand in the portal near the top of Rosamond’s Tower; and yon turret, +which rises opposite to our feet, is that which is called Love’s Ladder, +from which the drawbridge reached that admitted the profligate Norman tyrant to +the bower of his mistress.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, my lord, but the drawbridge is gone,” said Pearson. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, Pearson,” replied the General; “but an active man might +spring from the spot we stand upon to the battlements of yonder turret.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think so, my lord,” said Pearson. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” said Cromwell; “not if the avenger of blood were +behind you, with his slaughter-weapon in his hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“The fear of instant death might do much,” answered Pearson; +“but when I look at that sheer depth on either side, and at the empty +chasm between us and yonder turret, which is, I warrant you, twelve feet +distant, I confess the truth, nothing short of the most imminent danger should +induce me to try. Pah—the thought makes my head grow giddy!—I +tremble to see your Highness stand there, balancing yourself as if you +meditated a spring into the empty air. I repeat, I would scarce stand so near +the verge as does your Highness, for the rescue of my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, base and degenerate spirit!” said the General; “soul of +mud and clay, wouldst thou not do it, and much more, for the possession of +empire!—that is, peradventure,” continued he, changing his tone as +one who has said too much, “shouldst thou be called on to do this, that +thereby becoming a great man in the tribes of Israel, thou mightest redeem the +captivity of Jerusalem—ay, and it may be, work some great work for the +afflicted people of this land?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Highness may feel such calls,” said the officer; “but +they are not for poor Gilbert Pearson, your faithful follower. You made a jest +of me yesterday, when I tried to speak your language; and I am no more able to +fulfil your designs than to use your mode of speech.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Pearson,” said Cromwell, “thou hast thrice, yea, four +times, called me your Highness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did I, my lord? I was not sensible of it. I crave your pardon,” +said the officer. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Oliver, “there was no offence. I do indeed stand +high, and I may perchance stand higher—though, alas, it were fitter for a +simple soul like me to return to my plough and my husbandry. Nevertheless, I +will not wrestle against the Supreme will, should I be called on to do yet more +in that worthy cause. For surely he who hath been to our British Israel as a +shield of help, and a sword of excellency, making her enemies be found liars +unto her, will not give over the flock to those foolish shepherds of +Westminster, who shear the sheep and feed them not, and who are in very deed +hirelings, not shepherds.” +</p> + +<p> +“I trust to see your lordship quoit them all down stairs,” answered +Pearson. “But may I ask why we pursue this discourse even now, until we +have secured the common enemy?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will tarry no jot of time,” said the General; “fence the +communication of Love’s Ladder, as it is called, below, as I take it for +almost certain, that the party whom we have driven from fastness to fastness +during the night, has at length sprung to the top of yonder battlements from +the place where we now stand. Finding the turret is guarded below, the place he +has chosen for his security will prove a rat-trap, from whence there is no +returning.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a cask of gunpowder in this cabinet,” said Pearson; +“were it not better, my lord, to mine the tower, if he will not render +himself, and send the whole turret with its contents one hundred feet in the +air?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, silly man,” said Cromwell, striking him familiarly on the +shoulder; “if thou hadst done this without telling me, it had been good +service. But we will first summon the turret, and then think whether the petard +will serve our turn—it is but mining at last.—Blow a summons there, +down below.” +</p> + +<p> +The trumpets rang at his bidding, till the old walls echoed from every recess +and vaulted archway. Cromwell, as if he cared not to look upon the person whom +he expected to appear, drew back, like a necromancer afraid of the spectre +which he has evoked. +</p> + +<p> +“He has come to the battlement,” said Pearson to his General. +</p> + +<p> +“In what dress or appearance?” answered Cromwell, from within the +chamber. +</p> + +<p> +“A grey riding-suit, passmented with silver, russet walking-boots, a cut +band, a grey hat and plume, black hair.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is he, it is he!” said Cromwell; “and another crowning +mercy is vouchsafed!” +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, Pearson and young Lee exchanged defiance from their respective posts. +</p> + +<p> +“Surrender,” said the former, “or we blow you up in your +fastness.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am come of too high a race to surrender to rebels,” said Albert, +assuming the air with which, in such a condition, a king might have spoken. +“I bear you to witness,” cried Cromwell, exultingly, “he hath +refused quarter. Of a surety, his blood be on his head.—One of you bring +down the barrel of powder. As he loves to soar high, we will add what can be +taken from the soldiers’ bandoliers.—Come with me, Pearson; thou +understandest this gear.—Corporal Grace-be-here, stand thou fast on the +platform of the window where Captain Pearson and I stood but even now, and bend +the point of thy partisan against any who shall attempt to pass. Thou art as +strong as a bull; and I will back thee against despair itself.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” said the corporal, mounting reluctantly, “the place is +as the pinnacle of the Temple; and it is written, that Eutychus fell down from +the third loft and was taken up dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because he slept upon his post,” answered Cromwell readily. +“Beware thou of carelessness, and thus thy feet shall be kept from +stumbling.— You four soldiers, remain here to support the corporal, if it +be necessary; and you, as well as the corporal, will draw into the vaulted +passage the minute the trumpets sound a retreat. It is as strong as a casemate, +and you may lie there safe from the effects of the mine. Thou, Zerubbabel +Robins, I know wilt be their lance-prisade.”<a href="#fn34.1" name="fnref34.1" id="fnref34.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn34.1" id="fn34.1"></a> <a href="#fnref34.1">[1]</a> +“Lance-prisade,” or “lance-brisade,” a private +appointed to a small command—a sort of temporary corporal. +</p> + +<p> +Robins bowed, and the General departed to join those who were without. +</p> + +<p> +As he reached the door of the hall, the petard was heard to explode, and he saw +that it had succeeded; for the soldiers rushed, brandishing their swords and +pistols, in at the postern of the turret, whose gate had been successfully +forced. A thrill of exultation, but not unmingled with horror shot across the +veins of the ambitious soldier. +</p> + +<p> +“Now—now!” he cried; “they are dealing with him!” +</p> + +<p> +His expectations were deceived. Pearson and the others returned disappointed, +and reported they had been stopt by a strong trap-door of grated iron, extended +over the narrow stair; and they could see there was an obstacle of the same +kind some ten feet higher. To remove it by force, while a desperate and well +armed man had the advantage of the steps above them, might cost many lives. +“Which, lack-a-day,” said the General, “it is our duty to be +tender of. What dost thou advise, Gilbert Pearson?” +</p> + +<p> +“We must use powder, my lord,” answered Pearson, who saw his master +was too modest to reserve to himself the whole merit of the proceeding— +“There may be a chamber easily and conveniently formed under the foot of +the stair. We have a sausage, by good luck, to form the train—and +so”— +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Cromwell, “I know thou canst manage such gear +well—But, Gilbert, I go to visit the posts, and give them orders to +retire to a safe distance when the retreat is sounded. You will allow them five +minutes for this purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three is enough for any knave of them all,” said Pearson. +“They will be lame indeed, that require more on such a service.—I +ask but one, though I fire the train myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take heed,” said Cromwell, “that the poor soul be listened +to, if he asks quarter. It may be, he may repent him of his hard-heartedness +and call for mercy.” +</p> + +<p> +“And mercy he shall have,” answered Pearson, “provided he +calls loud enough to make me hear him; for the explosion of that damned petard +has made me as deaf as the devil’s dam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, Gilbert, hush!” said Cromwell; “you offend in your +language.” +</p> + +<p> +“Zooks, sir, I must speak either in your way, or in my own,” said +Pearson, “unless I am to be dumb as well as deaf!—Away with you, my +lord, to visit the posts; and you will presently hear me make some noise in the +world.” +</p> + +<p> +Cromwell smiled gently at his aide-de-camp’s petulance, patted him on the +shoulder, and called him a mad fellow, walked a little way, then turned back to +whisper, “What thou dost, do quickly;” then returned again towards +the outer circle of guards, turning his head from time to time, as if to assure +himself that the corporal, to whom he had intrusted the duty, still kept guard +with his advanced weapon upon the terrific chasm between Rosamond’s Tower +and the corresponding turret. Seeing him standing on his post, the General +muttered between his mustaches, “The fellow hath the strength and courage +of a bear; and yonder is a post where one shall do more to keep back than an +hundred in making way.” He cast a last look on the gigantic figure, who +stood in that airy position, like some Gothic statue, the weapon half levelled +against the opposite turret, with the but rested against his right foot, his +steel cap and burnished corslet glittering in the rising sun. +</p> + +<p> +Cromwell then passed on to give the necessary orders, that such sentinels as +might be endangered at their present posts by the effect of the mine, should +withdraw at the sound of the trumpet to the places which he pointed out to +them. Never, on any occasion of his life, did he display more calmness and +presence of mind. He was kind, nay, facetious, with the soldiers, who adored +him; and yet he resembled the volcano before the eruption commences—all +peaceful and quiet without, while an hundred contradictory passions were raging +in his bosom. +</p> + +<p> +Corporal Humgudgeon, meanwhile, remained steady upon his post; yet, though as +determined a soldier as ever fought among the redoubted regiment of Ironsides, +and possessed of no small share of that exalted fanaticism which lent so keen +an edge to the natural courage of those stern religionists, the veteran felt +his present situation to be highly uncomfortable. Within a pike’s length +of him arose a turret, which was about to be dispersed in massive fragments +through the air; and he felt small confidence in the length of time which might +be allowed for his escape from such a dangerous vicinity. The duty of constant +vigilance upon his post, was partly divided by this natural feeling, which +induced him from time to time to bend his eyes on the miners below, instead of +keeping them riveted on the opposite turret. +</p> + +<p> +At length the interest of the scene arose to the uttermost. After entering and +returning from the turret, and coming out again more than once, in the course +of about twenty minutes Pearson issued, as it might be supposed, for the last +time, carrying in his hand, and uncoiling, as he went along, the sausage, or +linen bag, (so called from its appearance,) which, strongly sewed together, and +crammed with gunpowder, was to serve as a train betwixt the mine to be sprung, +and the point occupied by the engineer who was to give fire. He was in the act +of finally adjusting it, when the attention of the corporal on the tower became +irresistibly and exclusively riveted upon the preparations for the explosion. +But while he watched the aide-de-camp drawing his pistol to give fire, and the +trumpeter handling his instrument as waiting the order to sound the retreat, +fate rushed on the unhappy sentinel in a way he least expected. +</p> + +<p> +Young, active, bold, and completely possessed of his presence of mind, Albert +Lee, who had been from the loopholes a watchful observer of every measure which +had been taken by his besiegers, had resolved to make one desperate effort for +self-preservation. While the head of the sentinel on the opposite platform was +turned from him, and bent rather downwards, he suddenly sprung across the +chasm, though the space on which he lighted was scarce wide enough for two +persons, threw the surprised soldier from his precarious stand, and jumped +himself down into the chamber. The gigantic trooper went sheer down twenty +feet, struck against a projecting battlement, which launched the wretched man +outwards, and then fell on the earth with such tremendous force, that the head, +which first touched the ground, dinted a hole in the soil of six inches in +depth, and was crushed like an eggshell. Scarce knowing what had happened, yet +startled and confounded at the descent of this heavy body, which fell at no +great distance from him, Pearson snapt his pistol at the train, no previous +warning given; the powder caught, and the mine exploded. Had it been strongly +charged with powder, many of those without might have suffered; but the +explosion was only powerful enough to blow out, in a lateral direction, a part +of the wall just above the foundation, sufficient, however, to destroy the +equipoise of the building. Then, amid a cloud of smoke, which began gradually +to encircle the turret like a shroud, arising slowly from its base to its +summit, it was seen to stagger and shake by all who had courage to look +steadily at a sight so dreadful. Slowly, at first, the building inclined +outwards, then rushed precipitately to its base, and fell to the ground in huge +fragments, the strength of its resistance showing the excellence of the +mason-work. The engineer, so soon as he had fired the train, fled in such alarm +that he wellnigh ran against his General, who was advancing towards him, while +a huge stone from the summit of the building, flying farther than the rest, +lighted within a yard of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Thou hast been over hasty, Pearson,” said Cromwell, with the +greatest composure possible—“hath no one fallen in that same tower +of Siloe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some one fell,” said Pearson, still in great agitation, “and +yonder lies his body half-buried in the rubbish.” +</p> + +<p> +With a quick and resolute step Cromwell approached the spot, and exclaimed, +“Pearson, thou hast ruined me—the young Man hath +escaped.—This is our own sentinel—plague on the idiot! Let him rot +beneath the ruins which crushed him!” +</p> + +<p> +A cry now resounded from the platform of Rosamond’s Tower, which appeared +yet taller than formerly, deprived of the neighbouring turret, which emulated +though it did not attain to its height,—“A prisoner, noble +General—a prisoner—the fox whom we have chased all night is now in +the snare—the Lord hath delivered him into the hand of his +servants.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look you keep him in safe custody,” exclaimed Cromwell, “and +bring him presently down to the apartment from which the secret passages have +their principal entrance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Excellency shall be obeyed.” +</p> + +<p> +The proceedings of Albert Lee, to which these exclamations related, had been +unfortunate. He had dashed from the platform, as we have related, the gigantic +strength of the soldier opposed to him, and had instantly jumped down into +Rochecliffe’s chamber. But the soldiers stationed there threw themselves +upon him, and after a struggle, which was hopelessly maintained against such +advantage of numbers, had thrown the young cavalier to the ground, two of them, +drawn down by his strenuous exertions, falling across him. At the same moment a +sharp and severe report was heard, which, like a clap of thunder in the +immediate vicinity, shook all around them, till the strong and solid tower +tottered like the masts of a stately vessel when about to part by the board. In +a few seconds, this was followed by another sullen sound, at first low, and +deep, but augmenting like the roar of a cataract, as it descends, reeling, +bellowing, and rushing, as if to astound both heaven and earth. So awful, +indeed, was the sound of the neighbour tower as it fell, that both the captive, +and those who struggled with him, continued for a minute or two passive in each +other’s grasp. +</p> + +<p> +Albert was the first who recovered consciousness and activity. He shook off +those who lay above him, and made a desperate effort to gain his feet, in which +he partly succeeded. But as he had to deal with men accustomed to every species +of danger, and whose energies were recovered nearly as soon as his own, he was +completely secured, and his arms held down. Loyal and faithful to his trust, +and resolved to sustain to the last the character which he had assumed, he +exclaimed, as his struggles were finally overpowered, “Rebel villains! +would you slay your king?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, heard you that?” cried one of the soldiers to the +lance-prisade, who commanded the party. “Shall I not strike this son of a +wicked father under the fifth rib, even as the tyrant of Moab was smitten by +Ehud with a dagger of a cubit’s length?” +</p> + +<p> +But Robins answered, “Be it far from us, Merciful Strickalthrow, to slay +in cold blood the captive of our bow and of our spear. Me thinks, since the +storm of Tredagh<a href="#fn34.2" name="fnref34.2" id="fnref34.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +we have shed enough of blood—therefore, on your lives do him no evil; but +take from him his arms, and let us bring him before the chosen Instrument, even +our General, that he may do with him what is meet in his eyes.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn34.2" id="fn34.2"></a> <a href="#fnref34.2">[2]</a> +Tredagh, or Drogheda, was taken by Cromwell in 1649, by storm, and the governor +and the whole garrison put to the sword. +</p> + +<p> +By this time the soldier, whose exultation had made him the first to +communicate the intelligence from the battlements to Cromwell, returned, and +brought commands corresponding to the orders of their temporary officer; and +Albert Lee, disarmed and bound, was conducted as a captive into the apartment +which derived its name from the victories of his ancestor, and placed in the +presence of General Cromwell. +</p> + +<p> +Running over in his mind the time which had elapsed since the departure Charles +till the siege, if it may be termed so, had terminated in his own capture, +Albert had every reason to hope that his Royal Master must have had time to +accomplish his escape. Yet he determined to maintain to the last a deceit which +might for a time insure the King’s safety. The difference betwixt them +could not, he thought, be instantly discovered, begrimed as he was with dust +and smoke, and with blood issuing from some scratches received in the scuffle. +</p> + +<p> +In this evil plight, but bearing himself with such dignity as was adapted to +the princely character, Albert was ushered into the apartment of Victor Lee, +where, in his father’s own chair, reclined the triumphant enemy of the +cause to which the house of Lee had been hereditarily faithful. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +A barren title hast thou bought too dear,<br/> +Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? +</p> + +<p class="left"> +H<small>ENRY</small> IV. P<small>ART</small> I. +</p> + +<p> +Oliver Cromwell arose from his seat as the two veteran soldiers, Zerubbabel +Robins and Merciful Strickalthrow, introduced into the apartment the prisoner, +whom they held by the arms, and fixed his stern hazel eye on Albert long before +he could give vent to the ideas which were swelling in his bosom. Exultation +was the most predominant. +</p> + +<p> +“Art not thou,” he at length said, “that Egyptian which, +before these days, madest an uproar, and leddest out into the wilderness many +thousand men, who were murderers!—Ha, youth, I have hunted thee from +Stirling to Worcester, from Worcester to Woodstock, and we have met at +last!” +</p> + +<p> +“I would,” replied Albert, speaking in the character which he had +assumed, “that we had met where I could have shown thee the difference +betwixt a rightful King and an ambitious Usurper!” +</p> + +<p> +“Go to, young man,” said Cromwell; “say rather the difference +between a judge raised up for the redemption of England, and the son of those +Kings whom the Lord in his anger permitted to reign over her. But we will not +waste useless words. God knows that it is not of our will that we are called to +such high matters, being as humble in our thoughts as we are of ourselves; and +in our unassisted nature frail and foolish; and unable to render a reason but +for the better spirit within us, which is not of us.—Thou art weary, +young man, and thy nature requires rest and refection, being doubtless dealt +with delicately, as one who hath fed on the fat, and drunk of the sweet, and +who hath been clothed in purple and fine linen.” +</p> + +<p> +Here the General suddenly stopt, and then abruptly exclaimed—“But +is this—Ay! whom have we here? These are not the locks of the swarthy lad +Charles Stewart?—A cheat! a cheat!” +</p> + +<p> +Albert hastily cast his eyes on a mirror which stood in the room, and perceived +that a dark peruke, found among Dr. Rochecliffe’s miscellaneous wardrobe, +had been disordered in the scuffle with the soldiery, and that his own +light-brown hair was escaping from beneath it. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is this?” said Cromwell, stamping with fury—“Pluck +the disguise from him.” +</p> + +<p> +The soldiers did so; and bringing him at the same time towards the light, the +deception could not be maintained for a moment longer with any possibility of +success. Cromwell came up to him with his teeth set, and grinding against each +other as he spoke, his hands clenched, and trembling with emotion, and speaking +with a voice low-pitched, bitterly and deeply emphatic, such as might have +preceded a stab with his dagger. “Thy name, young man?” +</p> + +<p> +He was answered calmly and firmly, while the countenance of the speaker wore a +cast of triumph, and even contempt. +</p> + +<p> +“Albert Lee of Ditchley, a faithful subject of King Charles.” +</p> + +<p> +“I might have guessed it,” said Cromwell.—“Ay, and to +King Charles shalt thou go as soon as it is noon on the +dial.—Pearson,” he continued, “let him be carried to the +others; and let them be executed at twelve exactly.” +</p> + +<p> +“All, sir?” said Pearson, surprised; for Cromwell, though he at +times made formidable examples, was, in general, by no means sanguinary. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>All</i>”—repeated Cromwell, fixing his eye on young Lee. +“Yes, young sir, your conduct has devoted to death thy father, thy +kinsman, and the stranger that was in thine household. Such wreck hast thou +brought on thy father’s house.” +</p> + +<p> +“My father, too—my aged father!” said Albert, looking upward, +and endeavouring to raise his hands in the same direction, which was prevented +by his bonds. “The Lord’s will be done!” +</p> + +<p> +“All this havoc can be saved, if,” said the General, “thou +wilt answer one question—Where is the young Charles Stewart, who was +called King of Scotland?” +</p> + +<p> +“Under Heaven’s protection, and safe from thy power,” was the +firm and unhesitating answer of the young royalist. +</p> + +<p> +“Away with him to prison!” said Cromwell; “and from thence to +execution with the rest of them, as malignants taken in the fact. Let a +courtmartial sit on them presently.” +</p> + +<p> +“One word,” said young Lee, as they led him from the room. +“Stop, stop,” said Cromwell, with the agitation of renewed +hope—“let him be heard.” +</p> + +<p> +“You love texts of Scripture,” said Albert—“Let this be +the subject of your next homily—‘Had Zimri peace, who slew his +master?’” +</p> + +<p> +“Away with him,” said the General; “let him die the +death.—I have said it.” +</p> + +<p> +As Cromwell spoke these words, his aide-de-camp observed that he became +unwontedly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Excellency is overtoiled in the public service,” said +Pearson; “a course of the stag in the evening will refresh you. The old +knight hath a noble hound here, if we can but get him to hunt without his +master, which may be hard, as he is faithful, and”— +</p> + +<p> +“Hang him up!” said Cromwell. +</p> + +<p> +“What—whom—hang the noble dog? Your Excellency was wont to +love a good hound?” +</p> + +<p> +“It matters not,” said Cromwell; “let him be killed. Is it +not written, that they slew in the valley of Achor, not only the accursed +Achan, with his sons and his daughters, but also his oxen and asses, and his +sheep, and every live thing belonging unto him? And even thus shall we do to +the malignant family of Lee, who have aided Sisera in his flight, when Israel +might have been delivered of his trouble for ever. But send out couriers and +patrols—Follow, pursue, watch in every direction—Let my horse be +ready at the door in five minutes, or bring me the first thou canst +find.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Pearson that this was something wildly spoken, and that the cold +perspiration was standing upon the General’s brow as he said it. He +therefore again pressed the necessity of repose, and it would appear that +nature seconded strongly the representation. Cromwell arose, and made a step or +two towards the door of the apartment; but stopped, staggered, and, after a +pause, sate down in a chair. “Truly, friend Pearson,” he said, +“this weary carcass of ours is an impediment to us, even in our most +necessary business, and I am fitter to sleep than to watch, which is not my +wont. Place guards, therefore, till we repose ourselves for an hour or two. +Send out in every direction, and spare not for horses’ flesh. Wake me if +the court-martial require instruction, and forget not to see the sentence +punctually executed on the Lees, and those who were arrested with them.” +</p> + +<p> +As Cromwell spoke thus, he arose and half-opened a bedroom door, when Pearson +again craved pardon for asking if he had rightly understood his Excellency, +that all the prisoners were to be executed. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I not said it?” answered Cromwell, displeasedly. “Is it +because thou art a man of blood, and hast ever been, that thou dost affect +these scruples to show thyself tenderhearted at my expense? I tell thee, that +if there lack one in the full tale of execution, thine own life shall pay the +forfeit.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he entered the apartment, followed by the groom of his chamber, who +attended upon Pearson’s summons. +</p> + +<p> +When his General had retired, Pearson remained in great perplexity what he +ought to do; and that from no scruples of conscience, but from uncertainty +whether he might not err either in postponing, or in too hastily and too +literally executing, the instructions he had received. +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime, Strickalthrow and Robins had returned, after lodging Albert in +prison, to the room where Pearson was still musing on his General’s +commands. Both these men were adjutators in their army, and old soldiers, whom +Cromwell was accustomed to treat with great familiarity; so that Robins had no +hesitation to ask Captain Pearson, “Whether he meant to execute the +commands of the General, even to the letter?” +</p> + +<p> +Pearson shook his head with an air of doubt, but added, “There was no +choice left.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be assured,” said the old man, “that if thou dost this +folly, thou wilt cause Israel to sin, and that the General will not be pleased +with your service. Thou knowest, and none better than thou, that Oliver, +although he be like unto David the son of Jesse, in faith, and wisdom, and +courage, yet there are times when the evil spirit cometh upon him as it did +upon Saul, and he uttereth commands which he will not thank any one for +executing.” +</p> + +<p> +Pearson was too good a politician to assent directly to a proposition which he +could not deny—he only shook his head once more, and said that it was +easy for those to talk who were not responsible, but the soldier’s duty +was to obey his orders, and not to judge of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Very righteous truth,” said Merciful Strickalthrow, a grim old +Scotchman; “I marvel where our brother Zerubbabel caught up this softness +of heart?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I do but wish,” said Zerubbabel, “that four or five +human creatures may draw the breath of God’s air for a few hours more; +there can be small harm done by delaying the execution,—and the General +will have some time for reflection.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” said Captain Pearson, “but I in my service must be more +pointedly obsequious, than thou in thy plainness art bound to be, friend +Zerubbabel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then shall the coarse frieze cassock of the private soldier help the +golden gaberdine of the captain to bear out the blast,” said Zerubbabel. +“Ay, indeed, I can show you warrant why we be aidful to each other in +doing acts of kindness and long-suffering, seeing the best of us are poor +sinful creatures, who might suffer, being called to a brief accounting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of a verity you surprise me, brother Zerubbabel,” said +Strickalthrow; “that thou, being an old and experienced soldier, whose +head hath grown grey in battle, shouldst give such advice to a young officer. +Is not the General’s commission to take away the wicked from the land, +and to root out the Amalekite, and the Jebusite, and the Perizzite, and the +Hittite, and the Girgashite, and the Amorite? and are not these men justly to +be compared to the five kings, who took shelter in the cave of Makedah, who +were delivered into the hands of Joshua the son of Nun? and he caused his +captains and his soldiers to come near and tread on their necks—and then +he smote them, and he slew them, and then he hanged them on five trees, even +till evening—And thou, Gilbert Pearson by name, be not withheld from the +duty which is appointed to thee, but do even as has been commanded by him who +is raised up to judge and to deliver Israel; for it is written, ‘cursed +is he who holdeth back his sword from the slaughter.’” +</p> + +<p> +Thus wrangled the two military theologians, while Pearson, much more solicitous +to anticipate the wishes of Oliver than to know the will of Heaven, listened to +them with great indecision and perplexity. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +But let us now, like soldiers on the watch,<br/> +Put the soul’s armour on, alike prepared<br/> +For all a soldier’s warfare brings. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +J<small>OANNA</small> B<small>AILLIE</small>. +</p> + +<p> +The reader will recollect, that when Rochecliffe and Joceline were made +prisoners, the party which escorted them had two other captives in their train, +Colonel Everard, namely, and the Rev. Nehemiah Holdenough. When Cromwell had +obtained entrance into Woodstock, and commenced his search after the fugitive +Prince, the prisoners were placed in what had been an old guardroom, and which +was by its strength well calculated to serve for a prison, and a guard was +placed over them by Pearson. No light was allowed, save that of a glimmering +fire of charcoal. The prisoners remained separated from each other, Colonel +Everard conversing with Nehemiah Holdenough, at a distance from Dr. +Rochecliffe, Sir Henry Lee, and Joceline. The party was soon after augmented by +Wildrake, who was brought down to the Lodge, and thrust in with so little +ceremony, that, his arms being bound, he had very nearly fallen on his nose in +the middle of the prison. +</p> + +<p> +“I thank you, my good friend,” he said, looking back to the door, +which they who had pushed him in were securing—“<i>Point de +cérémonie</i>—no apology for tumbling, so we light in good +company.—Save ye, save ye, gentlemen all—What, <i>á la mort</i>, +and nothing stirring to keep the spirits up, and make a night +on’t?—the last we shall have, I take it; for a make<a href="#fn36.1" name="fnref36.1" id="fnref36.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +to a million, but we trine to the nubbing cheat<a href="#fn36.2" name="fnref36.2" id="fnref36.2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +to-morrow.—Patron—noble patron, how goes it? This was but a scurvy +trick of Noll so far as you were concerned: as for me, why I might have +deserved something of the kind at his hand.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn36.1" id="fn36.1"></a> <a href="#fnref36.1">[1]</a> +A half-penny. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn36.2" id="fn36.2"></a> <a href="#fnref36.2">[2]</a> +Hang on the gallows. +</p> + +<p> +“Prithee, Wildrake, sit down,” said Everard; “thou art +drunk—disturb us not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drunk? I drunk?” cried Wildrake, “I have been splicing the +mainbrace, as Jack says at Wapping—have been tasting Noll’s brandy +in a bumper to the King’s health, and another to his Excellency’s +confusion, and another to the d—n of Parliament—and it may be one +or two more, but all to devilish good toasts. But I’m not drunk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Prithee, friend, be not profane,” said Nehemiah Holdenough. +</p> + +<p> +“What, my little Presbyterian Parson, my slender Mass-John? thou shalt +say amen to this world instantly”—said Wildrake; “I have had +a weary time in’t for one.—Ha, noble Sir Henry, I kiss your +hand—I tell thee, knight, the point of my Toledo was near +Cromwell’s heart last night, as ever a button on the breast of his +doublet. Rat him, he wears secret armour.—He a soldier! Had it not been +for a cursed steel shirt, I would have spitted him like a lark.—Ha, +Doctor Rochecliffe!—thou knowest I can wield my weapon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied the Doctor, “and you know I can use +mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“I prithee be quiet, Master Wildrake,” said Sir Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, good knight,” answered Wildrake, “be somewhat more +cordial with a comrade in distress. This is a different scene from the +Brentford storming-party. The jade Fortune has been a very step-mother to me. I +will sing you a song I made on my own ill-luck.” +</p> + +<p> +“At this moment, Captain Wildrake, we are not in a fitting mood for +singing,” said Sir Henry, civilly and gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, it will aid your devotions—Egad, it sounds like a penitential +psalm. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + ‘When I was a young lad,<br/> + My fortune was bad,<br/> +If ere I do well ’tis a wonder.<br/> + I spent all my means<br/> + Amid sharpers and queans;<br/> +Then I got a commission to plunder.<br/> + I have stockings ’tis true,<br/> + But the devil a shoe,<br/> +I am forced to wear boots in all weather,<br/> + Be d——d the hoot sole,<br/> + Curse on the spur-roll.<br/> +Confounded be the upper-leather.’”<a href="#fn36.3" name="fnref36.3" id="fnref36.3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn36.3" id="fn36.3"></a> <a href="#fnref36.3">[3]</a> +Such a song, or something very like it, may be found in Ramsay’s +Tea-table Miscellany, among the wild slips of minstrelsy which are there +collected. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened as Wildrake finished this stanza at the top of his voice, and +in rushed a sentinel, who, greeting him by the title of a “blasphemous +bellowing bull of Bashan,” bestowed a severe blow, with his ramrod, on +the shoulders of the songster, whose bonds permitted him no means of returning +the compliment. +</p> + +<p> +“Your humble servant again, sir,” said Wildrake, shrugging his +shoulders,—“sorry I have no means of showing my gratitude. I am +bound over to keep the peace, like Captain Bobadil—Ha, knight, did you +hear my bones clatter? that blow came twankingly off—the fellow might +inflict the bastinado, were it in presence of the Grand Seignior—he has +no taste for music, knight—is no way moved by the ‘concord of sweet +sounds.’ I will warrant him fit for treason, stratagem, and spoil— +Eh?—all down in the mouth—well—I’ll go to sleep +to-night on a bench, as I’ve done many a night, and I will be ready to be +hanged decently in the morning, which never happened to me before in all my +life— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When I was a young lad,<br/> +My fortune was bad—’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Pshaw! This is not the tune it goes to.” Here he fell fast asleep, and +sooner or later all his companions in misfortune followed his example. +</p> + +<p> +The benches intended for the repose of the soldiers of the guard, afforded the +prisoners convenience enough to lie down, though their slumbers, it may be +believed, were neither sound nor undisturbed. But when daylight was but a +little while broken, the explosion of gunpowder which took place, and the +subsequent fall of the turret to which the mine was applied, would have +awakened the Seven Sleepers, or Morpheus himself. The smoke, penetrating +through the windows, left them at no loss for the cause of the din. +</p> + +<p> +“There went my gunpowder,” said Rochecliffe, “which has, I +trust, blown up as many rebel villains as it might have been the means of +destroying otherwise in a fair field. It must have caught fire by +chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“By chance?—No,” said Sir Henry; “depend on it, my bold +Albert has fired the train, and that in yonder blast Cromwell was flying +towards the heaven whose battlements he will never reach—Ah, my brave +boy! and perhaps thou art thyself sacrificed, like a youthful Samson among the +rebellious Philistines.—But I will not be long behind thee, +Albert.” +</p> + +<p> +Everard hastened to the door, hoping to obtain from the guard, to whom his name +and rank might be known, some explanation of the noise, which seemed to +announce some dreadful catastrophe. +</p> + +<p> +But Nehemiah Holdenough, whose rest had been broken by the trumpet which gave +signal for the explosion, appeared in the very acme of horror—“It +is the trumpet of the Archangel!” he cried,—“it is the +crushing of this world of elements—it is the summons to the +Judgment-seat! The dead are obeying the call—they are with us—they +are amongst us—they arise in their bodily frames—they come to +summon us!” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke his eyes were riveted upon Dr. Rochecliffe, who stood directly +opposite to him. In rising hastily, the cap which he commonly wore, according +to a custom then usual both among clergymen and gownmen of a civil profession, +had escaped from his head, and carried with it the large silk patch which he +probably wore for the purpose of disguise; for the cheek which was disclosed +was unscarred, and the eye as good as that which was usually uncovered. +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Everard returning from the door, endeavoured in vain to make Master +Holdenough comprehend what he learned from the guard without, that the +explosion had involved only the death of one of Cromwell’s soldiers. The +Presbyterian divine continued to stare wildly at him of the Episcopal +persuasion. +</p> + +<p> +But Dr. Rochecliffe heard and understood the news brought by Colonel Everard, +and, relieved from the instant anxiety which had kept him stationary, he +advanced towards the retiring Calvinist, extending his hand in the most +friendly manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Avoid thee—Avoid thee!” said Holdenough, “the living +may not join hands with the dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I,” said Rochecliffe, “am as much alive as you +are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou alive!—thou! Joseph Albany, whom my own eyes saw precipitated +from the battlements of Clidesthrow Castle?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ay,” answered the Doctor, “but you did not see me swim +ashore on a marsh covered with sedges—<i>fugit ad salices</i>—after +a manner which I will explain to you another time.” +</p> + +<p> +Holdenough touched his hand with doubt and uncertainty. “Thou art indeed +warm and alive,” he said, “and yet after so many blows, and a fall +so tremendous—thou canst not be <i>my</i> Joseph Albany.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Joseph Albany Rochecliffe,” said the Doctor, “become so +in virtue of my mother’s little estate, which fines and confiscations +have made an end of.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is it so indeed?” said Holdenough, “and have I recovered +mine old chum?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so,” replied Rochecliffe, “by the same token I appeared +to you in the Mirror Chamber—Thou wert so bold, Nehemiah, that our whole +scheme would have been shipwrecked, had I not appeared to thee in the shape of +a departed friend. Yet, believe me, it went against my heart to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, fie on thee, fie on thee,” said Holdenough, throwing himself +into his arms, and clasping him to his bosom, “thou wert ever a naughty +wag. How couldst thou play me such a trick?—Ah, Albany, dost thou +remember Dr. Purefoy and Caius College?” +</p> + +<p> +“Marry, do I,” said the Doctor, thrusting his arm through the +Presbyterian divine’s, and guiding him to a seat apart from the other +prisoners, who witnessed this scene with much surprise. “Remember Caius +College?” said Rochecliffe; “ay, and the good ale we drank, and our +parties to mother Huffcap’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Vanity of vanities,” said Holdenough, smiling kindly at the same +time, and still holding his recovered friend’s arm enclosed and +hand-locked in his. +</p> + +<p> +“But the breaking the Principal’s orchard, so cleanly done,” +said the Doctor; “it was the first plot I ever framed, and much work I +had to prevail on thee to go into it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, name not that iniquity,” said Nehemiah, “since I may +well say, as the pious Master Baxter, that these boyish offences have had their +punishment in later years, inasmuch as that inordinate appetite for fruit hath +produced stomachic affections under which I yet labour.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, true, dear Nehemiah,” said Rochecliffe, “but care not +for them—a dram of brandy will correct it all. Mr. Baxter was,” he +was about to say “an ass,” but checked himself, and only filled up +the sentence with “a good man, I dare say, but over scrupulous.” +</p> + +<p> +So they sat down together the best of friends, and for half an hour talked with +mutual delight over old college stories. By degrees they got on the politics of +the day; and though then they unclasped their hands, and there occurred between +them such expressions as, “Nay, my dear brother,” and, “there +I must needs differ,” and, “on this point I crave leave to +think;” yet a hue and cry against the Independents and other sectarists +being started, they followed like brethren in full hollo, and it was hard to +guess which was most forward. Unhappily, in the course of this amicable +intercourse, something was mentioned about the bishopric of Titus, which at +once involved them in the doctrinal question of Church Government. Then, alas! +the floodgates were opened, and they showered on each other Greek and Hebrew +texts, while their eyes kindled, their cheeks glowed, their hands became +clenched, and they looked more like fierce polemics about to rend each +other’s eyes out, than Christian divines. +</p> + +<p> +Roger Wildrake, by making himself an auditor of the debate, contrived to +augment its violence. He took, of course, a most decided part in a question, +the merits of which were totally unknown to him. Somewhat overawed by +Holdenough’s ready oratory and learning, the cavalier watched with a face +of anxiety the countenance of Dr. Rochecliffe; but when he saw the proud eye +and steady bearing of the Episcopal champion, and heard him answer Greek with +Greek, and Hebrew with Hebrew, Wildrake backed his arguments as he closed them, +with a stout rap upon the bench, and an exulting laugh in the face of the +antagonist. It was with some difficulty that Sir Henry and Colonel Everard, +having at length and reluctantly interfered, prevailed on the two alienated +friends to adjourn their dispute, removing at the same time to a distance, and +regarding each other with looks in which old friendship appeared to have +totally given way to mutual animosity. +</p> + +<p> +But while they sat lowering on each other, and longing to renew a contest in +which each claimed the victory, Pearson entered the prison, and in a low and +troubled voice, desired the persons whom it contained to prepare for instant +death. +</p> + +<p> +Sir Henry Lee received the doom with the stern composure which he had hitherto +displayed. Colonel Everard attempted the interposition of a strong and +resentful appeal to the Parliament, against the judgment of the court-martial +and the General. But Pearson declined to receive or transmit any such +remonstrance, and with a dejected look and mien of melancholy presage, renewed +his exhortation to them to prepare for the hour of noon, and withdrew from the +prison. +</p> + +<p> +The operation of this intelligence on the two clerical disputants was more +remarkable. They gazed for a moment on each other with eyes in which repentant +kindness and a feeling of generous shame quenched every lingering feeling of +resentment, and joined in the mutual exclamation— “My +brother—my brother, I have sinned, I have sinned in offending +thee!” they rushed into each other’s arms, shed tears as they +demanded each other’s forgiveness, and, like two warriors, who sacrifice +a personal quarrel to discharge their duty against the common enemy, they +recalled nobler ideas of their sacred character, and assuming the part which +best became them on an occasion so melancholy, began to exhort those around +them to meet the doom that had been announced, with the firmness and dignity +which Christianity alone can give. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SEVENTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Most gracious prince, good Cannyng cried,<br/> + Leave vengeance to our God,<br/> +And lay the iron rule aside,<br/> + Be thine the olive rod. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +B<small>ALLAD OF</small> S<small>IR</small> C<small>HARLES</small> B<small>AWDIN</small>. +</p> + +<p> +The hour appointed for execution had been long past, and it was about five in +the evening when the Protector summoned Pearson to his presence. He went with +fear and reluctance, uncertain how he might be received. After remaining about +a quarter of an hour, the aide-de-camp returned to Victor Lee’s parlour, +where he found the old soldier, Zerubbabel Robins, in attendance for his +return. +</p> + +<p> +“How is Oliver?” said the old man, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, well,” answered Pearson, “and hath asked no questions +of the execution, but many concerning the reports we have been able to make +regarding the flight of the young Man, and is much moved at thinking he must +now be beyond pursuit. Also I gave him certain papers belonging to the +malignant Doctor Rochecliffe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then will I venture upon him,” said the adjutator; “so give +me a napkin that I may look like a sewer, and fetch up the food which I +directed should be in readiness.” +</p> + +<p> +Two troopers attended accordingly with a ration of beef, such as was +distributed to the private soldiers, and dressed after their fashion—a +pewter pot of ale, a trencher with salt, black pepper, and a loaf of ammunition +bread. “Come with me,” he said to Pearson, “and fear +not—Noll loves an innocent jest.” He boldly entered the +General’s sleeping apartment, and said aloud, “Arise, thou that art +called to be a judge in Israel—let there be no more folding of the hands +to sleep. Lo, I come as a sign to thee; wherefore arise, eat, drink, and let +thy heart be glad within thee; for thou shalt eat with joy the food of him that +laboureth in the trenches, seeing that since thou wert commander over the host, +the poor sentinel hath had such provisions as I have now placed for thine own +refreshment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, brother Zerubbabel,” said Cromwell, accustomed to such acts +of enthusiasm among his followers, “we would wish that it were so; +neither is it our desire to sleep soft, nor feed more highly than the meanest +that ranks under our banners. Verily, thou hast chosen well for my refreshment, +and the smell of the food is savoury in my nostrils.” +</p> + +<p> +He arose from the bed, on which he had lain down half dressed, and wrapping his +cloak around him, sate down by the bedside, and partook heartily of the plain +food which was prepared for him. While he was eating, Cromwell commanded +Pearson to finish his report—“You need not desist for the presence +of a worthy soldier, whose spirit is as my spirit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, but,” interrupted Robins, “you are to know that Gilbert +Pearson hath not fully executed thy commands, touching a part of those +malignants, all of whom should have died at noon.” +</p> + +<p> +“What execution—what malignants?” said Cromwell, laying down +his knife and fork. +</p> + +<p> +“Those in the prison here at Woodstock,” answered Zerubbabel, +“whom your Excellency commanded should be executed at noon, as taken in +the fact of rebellion against the Commonwealth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wretch!” said Cromwell, starting up and addressing Pearson, +“thou hast not touched Mark Everard, in whom there was no guilt, for he +was deceived by him who passed between us—neither hast thou put forth thy +hand on the pragmatic Presbyterian minister, to have all those of their classes +cry sacrilege, and alienate them from us for ever?” +</p> + +<p> +“If your Excellency wish them to live, they live—their life and +death are in the power of a word,” said Pearson. +</p> + +<p> +“Enfranchise them; I must gain the Presbyterian interest over to us if I +can.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rochecliffe, the arch-plotter,” said Pearson, “I thought to +have executed, but”— +</p> + +<p> +“Barbarous man,” said Cromwell, “alike ungrateful and +impolitic—wouldst thou have destroyed our decoy-duck? This doctor is but +like a well, a shallow one indeed, but something deeper than the springs which +discharge their secret tribute into his keeping; then come I with a pump, and +suck it all up to the open air. Enlarge him, and let him have money if he wants +it. I know his haunts; he can go nowhere but our eye will be upon +him.—But you look at each other darkly, as if you had more to say than +you durst. I trust you have not done to death Sir Henry Lee?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Yet the man,” replied Pearson, “is a confirmed +malignant, and”— +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, but he is also a noble relic of the ancient English +Gentleman,” said the General. “I would I knew how to win the favour +of that race. But we, Pearson, whose royal robes are the armour which we wear +on our bodies, and whose leading staves are our sceptres, are too newly set up +to draw the respect of the proud malignants, who cannot brook to submit to less +than royal lineage. Yet what can they see in the longest kingly line in Europe, +save that it runs back to a successful soldier? I grudge that one man should be +honoured and followed, because he is the descendant of a victorious commander, +while less honour and allegiance is paid to another, who, in personal +qualities, and in success, might emulate the founder of his rival’s +dynasty. Well, Sir Henry Lee lives, and shall live for me. His son, indeed, +hath deserved the death which he has doubtless sustained.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” stammered Pearson, “since your Excellency has +found I am right in suspending your order in so many instances, I trust you +will not blame me in this also—I thought it best to await more special +orders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou art in a mighty merciful humour this morning, Pearson,” said +Cromwell, not entirely satisfied. +</p> + +<p> +“If your Excellency please, the halter is ready, and so is the +provost-marshal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, if such a bloody fellow as thou hast spared him, it would ill +become me to destroy him,” said the General. “But then, here is +among Rochecliffe’s papers the engagement of twenty desperadoes to take +us off—some example ought to be made.” +</p> + +<p> +“My lord,” said Zerubbabel, “consider now how often this +young man, Albert Lee, hath been near you, nay, probably, quite close to your +Excellency, in these dark passages which he knew, and we did not. Had he been +of an assassin’s nature, it would have cost him but a pistol-shot, and +the light of Israel was extinguished. Nay, in the unavoidable confusion which +must have ensued, the sentinels quitting their posts, he might have had a fair +chance of escape.” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough Zerubbabel; he lives,” said the General. “He shall +remain in custody for some time, however, and be then banished from England. +The other two are safe, of course; for you would not dream of considering such +paltry fellows as fit victims for my revenge.” +</p> + +<p> +“One fellow, the under-keeper, called Joliffe, deserves death, +however,” said Pearson, “since he has frankly admitted that he slew +honest Joseph Tomkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“He deserves a reward for saving us a labour,” said Cromwell; +“that Tomkins was a most double-hearted villain. I have found evidence +among these papers here, that if we had lost the fight at Worcester, we should +have had reason to regret that we had ever trusted Master Tomkins—it was +only our success which anticipated his treachery—write us down debtor, +not creditor, to Joceline, an you call him so, and to his quarter-staff.” +</p> + +<p> +“There remains the sacrilegious and graceless cavalier who attempted your +Excellency’s life last night,” said Pearson. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said the General, “that were stooping too low for +revenge. His sword had no more power than had he thrusted with a tobacco-pipe. +Eagles stoop not at mallards, or wild-drakes either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, sir,” said Pearson, “the fellow should be punished as a +libeller. The quantity of foul and pestilential abuse which we found in his +pockets makes me loth he should go altogether free—Please to look at +them, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“A most vile hand,” said Oliver, as he looked at a sheet or two of +our friend Wildrake’s poetical miscellanies—“The very +handwriting seems to be drunk, and the very poetry not sober—What have we +here? +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘When I was a young lad,<br/> +My fortune was bad—<br/> +If e’er I do well, ’tis a wonder’— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Why, what trash is this?—and then again— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Now a plague on the poll<br/> +Of old politic Noll!<br/> +We will drink till we bring<br/> +In triumph back the King.’ +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +In truth, if it could be done that way, this poet would be a stout champion. +Give the poor knave five pieces, Pearson, and bid him go sell his ballads. If +he come within twenty miles of our person, though, we will have him flogged +till the blood runs down to his heels.” +</p> + +<p> +“There remains only one sentenced person,” said Pearson, “a +noble wolf-hound, finer than any your Excellency saw in Ireland. He belongs to +the old knight Sir Henry Lee. Should your Excellency not desire to keep the +fine creature yourself, might I presume to beg that I might have leave?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Pearson,” said Cromwell; “the old man, so faithful +himself, shall not be deprived of his faithful dog—I would <i>I</i> had +any creature, were it but a dog, that followed me because it loved me, not for +what it could make of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Excellency is unjust to your faithful soldiers,” said +Zerubbabel, bluntly, “who follow you like dogs, fight for you like dogs, +and have the grave of a dog on the spot where they happen to fall.” +</p> + +<p> +“How now, old grumbler,” said the General, “what means this +change of note?” +</p> + +<p> +“Corporal Humgudgeon’s remains are left to moulder under the ruins +of yonder tower, and Tomkins is thrust into a hole in a thicket like a +beast.” +</p> + +<p> +“True, true,” said Cromwell, “they shall be removed to the +churchyard, and every soldier shall attend with cockades of sea-green and blue +ribbon—Every one of the non-commissioned officers and adjutators shall +have a mourning-scarf; we ourselves will lead the procession, and there shall +be a proper dole of wine, burnt brandy, and rosemary. See that it is done, +Pearson. After the funeral, Woodstock shall be dismantled and destroyed, that +its recesses may not again afford shelter to rebels and malignants.” +</p> + +<p> +The commands of the General were punctually obeyed, and when the other +prisoners were dismissed, Albert Lee remained for some time in custody. He went +abroad after his liberation, entered in King Charles’s Guards, where he +was promoted by that monarch. But his fate, as we shall see hereafter, only +allowed him a short though bright career. +</p> + +<p> +We return to the liberation of the other prisoners from Woodstock. The two +divines, completely reconciled to each other, retreated arm in arm to the +parsonage-house, formerly the residence of Dr. Rochecliffe, but which he now +visited as the guest of his successor, Nehemiah Holdenough. The Presbyterian +had no sooner installed his friend under his roof, than he urged upon him an +offer to partake it, and the income annexed to it, as his own. Dr. Rochecliffe +was much affected, but wisely rejected the generous offer, considering the +difference of their tenets on Church government, which each entertained as +religiously as his creed. Another debate, though a light one, on the subject of +the office of Bishops in the Primitive Church, confirmed him in his resolution. +They parted the next day, and their friendship remained undisturbed by +controversy till Mr. Holdenough’s death, in 1658; a harmony which might +be in some degree owing to their never meeting again after their imprisonment. +Dr. Rochecliffe was restored to his living after the Restoration, and ascended +from thence to high clerical preferment. +</p> + +<p> +The inferior personages of the grand jail-delivery at Woodstock Lodge, easily +found themselves temporary accommodations in the town among old acquaintance; +but no one ventured to entertain the old knight, understood to be so much under +the displeasure of the ruling powers; and even the innkeeper of the George, who +had been one of his tenants, scarce dared to admit him to the common privileges +of a traveller, who has food and lodging for his money. Everard attended him +unrequested, unpermitted, but also unforbidden. The heart of the old man had +been turned once more towards him when he learned how he had behaved at the +memorable rencontre at the King’s Oak, and saw that he was an object of +the enmity, rather than the favour, of Cromwell. But there was another secret +feeling which tended to reconcile him to his nephew—the consciousness +that Everard shared with him the deep anxiety which he experienced on account +of his daughter, who had not yet returned from her doubtful and perilous +expedition. He felt that he himself would perhaps be unable to discover where +Alice had taken refuge during the late events, or to obtain her deliverance if +she was taken into custody. He wished Everard to offer him his service in +making a search for her, but shame prevented his preferring the request; and +Everard, who could not suspect the altered state of his uncle’s mind, was +afraid to make the proposal of assistance, or even to name the name of Alice. +</p> + +<p> +The sun had already set—they sat looking each other in the face in +silence, when the trampling of horses was heard—there was knocking at the +door—there was a light step on the stair, and Alice, the subject of their +anxiety, stood before them. She threw herself joyfully into her father’s +arms, who glanced his eye needfully round the room, as he said in a whisper, +“Is all safe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Safe and out of danger, as I trust,” replied Alice—“I +have a token for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eye then rested on Everard—she blushed, was embarrassed, and silent. +</p> + +<p> +“You need not fear your Presbyterian cousin,” said the knight, with +a good-humoured smile, “he has himself proved a confessor at least for +loyalty, and ran the risk of being a martyr.” +</p> + +<p> +She pulled from her bosom the royal rescript, written on a small and soiled +piece of paper, and tied round with a worsted thread instead of a seal. Such as +it was, Sir Henry ere he opened it pressed the little packet with oriental +veneration to his lips, to his heart, to his forehead; and it was not before a +tear had dropt on it that he found courage to open and read the billet. It was +in these words:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“L<small>OYAL OUR MUCH ESTEEMED</small> F<small>RIEND, AND OUR +TRUSTY</small> S<small>UBJECT</small>,—“It having become known to +us that a purpose of marriage has been entertained betwixt Mrs. Alice Lee, your +only daughter, and Markham Everard, Esq. of Eversly Chase, her kinsman, and by +affiancy your nephew: And being assured that this match would be highly +agreeable to you, had it not been for certain respects to our service, which +induced you to refuse your consent thereto—We do therefore acquaint you, +that, far from our affairs suffering by such an alliance, we do exhort, and so +far as we may, require you to consent to the same, as you would wish to do us +good pleasure, and greatly to advance our affairs. Leaving to you, +nevertheless, as becometh a Christian King, the full exercise of your own +discretion concerning other obstacles to such an alliance, which may exist, +independent of those connected with our service. Witness our hand, together +with our thankful recollections of your good services to our late Royal Father +as well as ourselves, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“C. R.” +</p> + +<p> +Long and steadily did Sir Henry gaze on the letter, so that it might almost +seem as if he were getting it by heart. He then placed it carefully in his +pocket-book, and asked Alice the account of her adventures the preceding night. +They were briefly told. Their midnight walk through the Chase had been speedily +and safely accomplished. Nor had the King once made the slightest relapse into +the naughty Louis Kerneguy. When she had seen Charles and his attendant set +off, she had taken some repose in the cottage where they parted. With the +morning came news that Woodstock was occupied by soldiers, so that return +thither might have led to danger, suspicion, and enquiry. Alice, therefore, did +not attempt it, but went to a house in the neighbourhood, inhabited by a lady +of established loyalty, whose husband had been major of Sir Henry Lee’s +regiment, and had fallen at the battle of Naseby. Mrs. Aylmer was a sensible +woman, and indeed the necessities of the singular times had sharpened every +one’s faculties for stratagem and intrigue. She sent a faithful servant +to scout about the mansion at Woodstock, who no sooner saw the prisoners +dismissed and in safety, and ascertained the knight’s destination for the +evening, than he carried the news to his mistress, and by her orders attended +Alice on horseback to join her father. +</p> + +<p> +There was seldom, perhaps, an evening meal made in such absolute silence as by +this embarrassed party, each occupied with their own thoughts, and at a loss +how to fathom those of the others. At length the hour came when Alice felt +herself at liberty to retire to repose after a day so fatiguing. Everard handed +her to the door of her apartment, and was then himself about to take leave, +when, to his surprise, his uncle asked him to return, pointed to a chair, and +giving him the King’s letter to read, fixed his looks on him steadily +during the perusal; determined that if he could discover aught short of the +utmost delight in the reading, the commands of the King himself should be +disobeyed, rather than Alice should be sacrificed to one who received not her +hand as the greatest blessing earth had to bestow. But the features of Everard +indicated joyful hope, even beyond what the father could have anticipated, yet +mingled with surprise; and when he raised his eye to the knight’s with +timidity and doubt, a smile was on Sir Henry’s countenance as he broke +silence. “The King,” he said, “had he no other subject in +England, should dispose at will of those of the house of Lee. But methinks the +family of Everard have not been so devoted of late to the crown as to comply +with a mandate, inviting its heir to marry the daughter of a beggar.” +</p> + +<p> +“The daughter of Sir Henry Lee,” said Everard, kneeling to his +uncle, and perforce kissing his hand, “would grace the house of a +duke.” +</p> + +<p> +“The girl is well enough,” said the knight proudly; “for +myself, my poverty shall neither shame nor encroach on my friends. Some few +pieces I have by Doctor Rochecliffe’s kindness, and Joceline and I will +strike out something.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my dear uncle, you are richer than you think for,” said +Everard. “That part of your estate, which my father redeemed for payment +of a moderate composition, is still your own, and held by trustees in your +name, myself being one of them. You are only our debtor for an advance of +monies, for which, if it will content you, we will count with you like usurers. +My father is incapable of profiting by making a bargain on his own account for +the estate of a distressed friend; and all this you would have learned long +since, but that you would not—I mean, time did not serve for +explanation—I mean”— +</p> + +<p> +“You mean I was too hot to hear reason, Mark, and I believe it is very +true. But I think we understand each other <i>now</i>. To-morrow I go with my +family to Kingston, where is an old house I may still call mine. Come hither at +thy leisure, Mark,—or thy best speed, as thou wilt—but come with +thy father’s consent.” +</p> + +<p> +“With my father in person,” said Everard, “if you will +permit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be that,” answered the knight, “as he and you will—I +think Joceline will scarce shut the door in thy face, or Bevis growl as he did +after poor Louis Kerneguy.—Nay, no more raptures, but good-night, Mark, +good-night; and if thou art not tired with the fatigue of yesterday—why, +if you appear here at seven in the morning, I think we must bear with your +company on the Kingston road.” +</p> + +<p> +Once more Everard pressed the knight’s hand, caressed Bevis, who received +his kindness graciously, and went home to dreams of happiness, which were +realized, as far as this motley world permits, within a few months afterwards. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a>CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH.</h2> + +<p class="poem"> + My life was of a piece.<br/> +Spent in your service—dying at your feet. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +D<small>ON</small> S<small>EBASTIAN</small>. +</p> + +<p> +Years rush by us like the wind. We see not whence the eddy comes, nor +whitherward it is tending, and we seem ourselves to witness their flight +without a sense that we are changed; and yet Time is beguiling man of his +strength, as the winds rob the woods of their foliage. +</p> + +<p> +After the marriage of Alice and Markham Everard, the old knight resided near +them, in an ancient manor-house, belonging to the redeemed portion of his +estate, where Joceline and Phœbe, now man and wife, with one or two domestics, +regulated the affairs of his household. When he tired of Shakspeare and +solitude, he was ever a welcome guest at his son-in-law’s, where he went +the more frequently that Markham had given up all concern in public affairs, +disapproving of the forcible dismissal of the Parliament, and submitting to +Cromwell’s subsequent domination, rather as that which was the lesser +evil, than as to a government which he regarded as legal. Cromwell seemed ever +willing to show himself his friend; but Everard, resenting highly the proposal +to deliver up the King, which he considered as an insult to his honour, never +answered such advances, and became, on the contrary, of the opinion, which was +now generally prevalent in the nation, that a settled government could not be +obtained without the recall of the banished family. There is no doubt that the +personal kindness which he had received from Charles, rendered him the more +readily disposed to such a measure. He was peremptory, however, in declining +all engagements during Oliver’s life, whose power he considered as too +firmly fixed to be shaken by any plots which could be formed against it. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, Wildrake continued to be Everard’s protected dependent as +before, though sometimes the connexion tended not a little to his +inconvenience. That respectable person, indeed, while he remained stationary in +his patron’s house, or that of the old knight, discharged many little +duties in the family, and won Alice’s heart by his attention to the +children, teaching the boys, of whom they had three, to ride, fence, toss the +pike, and many similar exercises; and, above all, filling up a great blank in +her father’s existence, with whom he played at chess and backgammon, or +read Shakspeare, or was clerk to prayers when any sequestrated divine ventured +to read the service of the Church. Or he found game for him while the old +gentleman continued to go a-sporting; and, especially he talked over the +storming of Brentford, and the battles of Edgehill, Banbury, Roundwaydown, and +others, themes which the aged cavalier delighted in, but which he could not so +well enter upon with Colonel Everard, who had gained his laurels in the +Parliament service. +</p> + +<p> +The assistance which he received from Wildrake’s society became more +necessary, after Sir Henry was deprived of his gallant and only son, who was +slain in the fatal battle of Dunkirk, where, unhappily, English colours were +displayed on both the contending sides, the French being then allied with +Oliver, who sent to their aid a body of auxiliaries, and the troops of the +banished King fighting in behalf of the Spaniards. Sir Henry received the +melancholy news like an old man, that is, with more external composure than +could have been anticipated. He dwelt for weeks and months on the lines +forwarded by the indefatigable Dr. Rochecliffe, superscribed in small letters, +C. R., and subscribed Louis Kerneguy, in which the writer conjured him to +endure this inestimable loss with the greater firmness, that he had still left +one son, (intimating himself,) who would always regard him as a father. +</p> + +<p> +But in spite of this balsam, sorrow, acting imperceptibly, and sucking the +blood like a vampire, seemed gradually drying up the springs of life; and, +without any formed illness, or outward complaint, the old man’s strength +and vigour gradually abated, and the ministry of Wildrake proved daily more +indispensable. +</p> + +<p> +It was not, however, always to be had. The cavalier was one of those happy +persons whom a strong constitution, an unreflecting mind, and exuberant +spirits, enable to play through their whole lives the part of a +school-boy—happy for the moment, and careless of consequences. +</p> + +<p> +Once or twice every year, when he had collected a few pieces, the Cavaliero +Wildrake made a start to London, where, as he described it, he went on the +ramble, drank as much wine as he could come by, and led a <i>skeldering</i> +life, to use his own phrase, among roystering cavaliers like himself, till by +some rash speech or wild action, he got into the Marshalsea, the Fleet, or some +other prison, from which he was to be delivered at the expense of interest, +money, and sometimes a little reputation. +</p> + +<p> +At length Cromwell died, his son resigned the government, and the various +changes which followed induced Everard, as well as many others, to adopt more +active measures in the King’s behalf. Everard even remitted considerable +sums for his service, but with the utmost caution, and corresponding with no +intermediate agent, but with the Chancellor himself, to whom he communicated +much useful information upon public affairs. With all his prudence he was very +nearly engaged in the ineffectual rising of Booth and Middleton in the west, +and with great difficulty escaped from the fatal consequences of that ill-timed +attempt. After this, although the estate of the kingdom was trebly unsettled, +yet no card seemed to turn up favourable to the royal cause, until the movement +of General Monk from Scotland. Even then, it was when at the point of complete +success, that the fortunes of Charles seemed at a lower ebb than ever, +especially when intelligence had arrived at the little Court which he then kept +in Brussels, that Monk, on arriving in London, had put himself under the orders +of the Parliament. +</p> + +<p> +It was at this time, and in the evening, while the King, Buckingham, Wilmot, +and some other gallants of his wandering Court, were engaged in a convivial +party, that the Chancellor (Clarendon) suddenly craved audience, and, entering +with less ceremony than he would have done at another time, announced +extraordinary news. For the messenger, he said, he could say nothing, saving +that he appeared to have drunk much, and slept little; but that he had brought +a sure token of credence from a man for whose faith he would venture his life. +The King demanded to see the messenger himself. +</p> + +<p> +A man entered, with something the manners of a gentleman, and more those of a +rakebelly debauchee—his eyes swelled and inflamed—his gait +disordered and stumbling, partly through lack of sleep, partly through the +means he had taken to support his fatigue. He staggered without ceremony to the +head of the table, seized the King’s hand, which he mumbled like a piece +of gingerbread; while Charles, who began to recollect him from his mode of +salutation, was not very much pleased that their meeting should have taken +place before so many witnesses. +</p> + +<p> +“I bring good news,” said the uncouth messenger, “glorious +news!—the King shall enjoy his own again!—My feet are beautiful on +the mountains. Gad, I have lived with Presbyterians till I have caught their +language— but we are all one man’s children now—all your +Majesty’s poor babes. The Rump is all ruined in London—Bonfires +flaming, music playing, rumps roasting, healths drinking, London in a blaze of +light from the Strand to Rotherhithe—tankards clattering”— +</p> + +<p> +“We can guess at that,” said the Duke of Buckingham. +</p> + +<p> +“My old friend, Mark Everard, sent me off with the news; I’m a +villain if I’ve slept since. Your Majesty recollects me, I am sure. Your +Majesty remembers, sa—sa—at the King’s Oak, at +Woodstock?— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘O, we’ll dance, and sing, and play,<br/> +For ’twill be a joyous day<br/> +When the King shall enjoy his own again.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Master Wildrake, I remember you well,” said the King. “I +trust the good news is certain?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certain! your Majesty; did I not hear the bells?—did I not see the +bonfires?—did I not drink your Majesty’s health so often, that my +legs would scarce carry me to the wharf? It is as certain as that I am poor +Roger Wildrake of Squattlesea-mere, Lincoln.” +</p> + +<p> +The Duke of Buckingham here whispered to the King, “I have always +suspected your Majesty kept odd company during the escape from Worcester, but +this seems a rare sample.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, pretty much like yourself, and other company I have kept here so +many years—as stout a heart, as empty a head,” said +Charles—“as much lace, though somewhat tarnished, as much brass on +the brow, and nearly as much copper in the pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would your Majesty would intrust this messenger of good news with me, +to get the truth out of him,” said Buckingham. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank your Grace,” replied the King; “but he has a will as +well as yourself, and such seldom agree. My Lord Chancellor hath wisdom, and to +that we must trust ourselves.—Master Wildrake, you will go with my Lord +Chancellor, who will bring us a report of your tidings; meantime, I assure you +that you shall be no loser for being the first messenger of good news.” +So saying, he gave a signal to the Chancellor to take away Wildrake, whom he +judged, in his present humour, to be not unlikely to communicate some former +passages at Woodstock which might rather entertain than edify the wits of his +court. +</p> + +<p> +Corroboration of the joyful intelligence soon arrived, and Wildrake was +presented with a handsome gratuity and small pension, which, by the +King’s special desire, had no duty whatever attached to it. +</p> + +<p> +Shortly afterwards, all England was engaged in chorusing his favourite +ditty— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Oh, the twenty-ninth of May,<br/> +It was a glorious day,<br/> +When the King did enjoy his own again.” +</p> + +<p> +On that memorable day, the King prepared to make his progress from Rochester to +London, with a reception on the part of his subjects so unanimously cordial, as +made him say gaily, it must have been his own fault to stay so long away from a +country where his arrival gave so much joy. On horseback, betwixt his brothers, +the Dukes of York and Gloucester, the Restored Monarch trode slowly over roads +strewn with flowers—by conduits running wine, under triumphal arches, and +through streets hung with tapestry. There were citizens in various bands, some +arrayed in coats of black velvet, with gold chains; some in military suits of +cloth of gold, or cloth of silver, followed by all those craftsmen who, having +hooted the father from Whitehall, had now come to shout the son into possession +of his ancestral place. On his progress through Blackheath, he passed that army +which, so long formidable to England herself, as well as to Europe, had been +the means of restoring the Monarchy which their own hands had destroyed. As the +King passed the last files of this formidable host, he came to an open part of +the heath, where many persons of quality, with others of inferior rank, had +stationed themselves to gratulate him as he passed towards the capital. +</p> + +<p> +There was one group, however, which attracted peculiar attention from those +around, on account of the respect shown to the party by the soldiers who kept +the ground, and who, whether Cavaliers or Roundheads, seemed to contest +emulously which should contribute most to their accommodation; for both the +elder and younger gentlemen of the party had been distinguished in the Civil +War. +</p> + +<p> +It was a family group, of which the principal figure was an old man seated in a +chair, having a complacent smile on his face, and a tear swelling to his eye, +as he saw the banners wave on in interminable succession, and heard the +multitude shouting the long silenced acclamation, “God save King +Charles.” His cheek was ashy pale, and his long beard bleached like the +thistle down; his blue eye was cloudless, yet it was obvious that its vision +was failing. His motions were feeble, and he spoke little, except when he +answered the prattle of his grandchildren, or asked a question of his daughter, +who sate beside him, matured in matronly beauty, or of Colonel Everard who +stood behind. There, too, the stout yeoman, Joceline Joliffe, still in his +silvan dress, leaned, like a second Benaiah, on the quarter-staff that had done +the King good service in its day, and his wife, a buxom matron as she had been +a pretty maiden, laughed at her own consequence; and ever and anon joined her +shrill notes to the stentorian halloo which her husband added to the general +acclamation. +</p> + +<p> +These fine boys and two pretty girls prattled around their grandfather, who +made them such answers as suited their age, and repeatedly passed his withered +hand over the fair locks of the little darlings, while Alice, assisted by +Wildrake, (blazing in a splendid dress, and his eyes washed with only a single +cup of canary,) took off the children’s attention from time to time, lest +they should weary their grandfather. We must not omit one other remarkable +figure in the group—a gigantic dog, which bore the signs of being at the +extremity of canine life, being perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old. But +though exhibiting the ruin only of his former appearance, his eyes dim, his +joints stiff, his head slouched down, and his gallant carriage and graceful +motions exchanged for a stiff, rheumatic, hobbling gait, the noble hound had +lost none of his instinctive fondness for his master. To lie by Sir +Henry’s feet in the summer or by the fire in winter, to raise his head to +look on him, to lick his withered hand or his shrivelled cheek from time to +time, seemed now all that Bevis lived for. +</p> + +<p> +Three or four livery servants attended to protect this group from the thronging +multitude, but it needed not. The high respectability and unpretending +simplicity of their appearance gave them, even in the eyes of the coarsest of +the people, an air of patriarchal dignity, which commanded general regard; and +they sat upon the bank which they had chosen for their station by the way-side, +as undisturbed as if they had been in their own park. +</p> + +<p> +And now the distant clarions announced the Royal Presence. Onward came +pursuivant and trumpet—onward came plumes and cloth of gold, and waving +standards displayed, and swords gleaming to the sun; and at length, heading a +group of the noblest in England, and supported by his royal brothers on either +side, onward came King Charles. He had already halted more than once, in +kindness perhaps as well as policy, to exchange a word with persons whom he +recognized among the spectators, and the shouts of the bystanders applauded a +courtesy which seemed so well timed. But when he had gazed an instant on the +party we have described, it was impossible, if even Alice had been too much +changed to be recognized, not instantly to know Bevis and his venerable master. +The Monarch sprung from his horse, and walked instantly up to the old knight, +amid thundering acclamations which rose from the multitudes around, when they +saw Charles with his own hand oppose the feeble attempts of the old man to rise +to do his homage. Gently replacing him on his seat—“Bless,” +he said, “father—bless your son, who has returned in safety, as you +blessed him when he departed in danger.” +</p> + +<p> +“May God bless—and preserve”—muttered the old man, +overcome by his feelings; and the King, to give him a few moments’ +repose, turned to Alice— +</p> + +<p> +“And you,” he said, “my fair guide, how have you been +employed since our perilous night-walk? But I need not ask,” glancing +around—“in the service of King and Kingdom, bringing up subjects, +as loyal as their ancestors.—A fair lineage, by my faith, and a beautiful +sight, to the eye of an English King!—Colonel Everard, we shall see you, +I trust, at Whitehall?” Here he nodded to Wildrake. “And thou, +Joceline, thou canst hold thy quarter-staff with one hand, sure?—Thrust +forward the other palm.” +</p> + +<p> +Looking down in sheer bashfulness, Joceline, like a bull about to push, +extended to the King, over his lady’s shoulder, a hand as broad and hard +as a wooden trencher, which the King filled with gold coins. “Buy a +handful for my friend Phœbe with some of these,” said Charles, +“she too has been doing her duty to Old England.” +</p> + +<p> +The King then turned once more to the knight, who seemed making an effort to +speak. He took his aged hand in both his own, and stooped his head towards him +to catch his accents, while the old man, detaining him with the other hand, +said something faltering, of which Charles could only catch the +quotation— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Unthread the rude eye of rebellion,<br/> +And welcome home again discarded faith.” +</p> + +<p> +Extricating himself, therefore, as gently as possible, from a scene which began +to grow painfully embarrassing, the good-natured King said, speaking with +unusual distinctness to insure the old man’s comprehending him, +“This is something too public a place for all we have to say. But if you +come not soon to see King Charles at Whitehall, he will send down Louis +Kerneguy to visit you, that you may see how rational that mischievous lad is +become since his travels.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he once more pressed affectionately the old man’s hand, bowed +to Alice and all around, and withdrew; Sir Henry Lee listening with a smile, +which showed he comprehended the gracious tendency of what had been said. The +old man leaned back on his seat, and muttered the <i>Nunc dimittas</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me for having made you wait, my lords,” said the King, as +he mounted his horse; “indeed, had it not been for these good folks, you +might have waited for me long enough to little purpose.—Move on, +sirs.” +</p> + +<p> +The array moved on accordingly; the sound of trumpets and drums again rose amid +the acclamations, which had been silent while the King stopped; while the +effect of the whole procession resuming its motion, was so splendidly dazzling, +that even Alice’s anxiety about for her father’s health was for a +moment suspended, while her eye followed the long line of varied brilliancy +that proceeded over the heath. When she looked again at Sir Henry, she was +startled to see that his cheek, which had gained some colour during his +conversation with the King, had relapsed into earthly paleness; that his eyes +were closed, and opened not again; and that his features expressed, amid their +quietude, a rigidity which is not that of sleep. They ran to his assistance, +but it was too late. The light that burned so low in the socket, had leaped up, +and expired in one exhilarating flash. +</p> + +<p> +The rest must be conceived. I have only to add that his faithful dog did not +survive him many days; and that the image of Bevis lies carved at his +master’s feet, on the tomb which was erected to the memory of Sir Henry +Lee of Ditchley.<a href="#fn38.1" name="fnref38.1" id="fnref38.1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn38.1" id="fn38.1"></a> <a href="#fnref38.1">[1]</a> +It may interest some readers to know that Bevis, the gallant hound, one of the +handsomest and active of the ancient Highland deer-hounds, had his prototype in +a dog called Maida, the gift of the late Chief of Glengarry to the author. A +beautiful sketch was made by Edwin Landseer, and afterwards engraved. I cannot +suppress the avowal of some personal vanity when I mention that a friend, going +through Munich, picked up a common snuff-box, such as are sold for one franc, +on which was displayed the form of this veteran favourite, simply marked as Der +lieblung hund von Walter Scott. Mr. Landseer’s painting is at Blair-Adam, +the property of my venerable friend, the Right Honourable Lord Chief +Commissioner Adam. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOODSTOCK; OR, THE CAVALIER ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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