With the King at Oxford: A Tale of the Great Rebellion

by Alfred John Church

  CHAPTER XI.

  AFTER NASEBY.

  At the edge of Naseby Field, somewhere, if my memory serves me, nearto the north-east corner, there was a small hollow, used in formertimes for digging of clay or gravel, but then overgrown with trees. Itwas a steep descent all round, and fenced with a paling, save in oneplace only, where was--or, I should rather say, had been--a road (fornow the bushes almost covered it), by which the carts had been used togo down for loading of the stuff. Thither John Talboys and I carriedmy father, purposing to find such shelter for him for the night as theplace could give, for the air was somewhat cold and nipping, as it iswont to be in these counties of the Midlands up to midsummer--yea, andpast it. We had but poor provision, especially for one that waswounded, as we could not but fear, to the death. Yet with ourhorsemen's cloaks on some dried grass, of which we found abundance,and the saddle from my poor beast Spot for a pillow, we made apassable bed. "'Tis the very lap of luxury," said my dear father, atrue soldier in every way, and in none more than in that which St.Paul will have to be a soldier's special virtue, that he can bearhardness. For food we had some eggs hard boiled and the half of a loafof bread, and some salted pork. These were of Jack Talboys' providing.He was an old campaigner, and would as lief forget his provision offood as his musket. For myself, I had had no such forethought, andbrought nothing to the common stock but the flask of sherry sack,which my good friend Master Webberley, pressed upon me when I bade himfarewell. Truly, I blessed him for his forethought, for all that myfather could swallow was now and then a morsel of bread sopped in thewine. It was plain to be seen that the hollow was used as a campingplace by gipsies and the like, for there was a hearth where a fire hadbeen, with great stones about it. I too would fain have lighted afire, for the night, as I have said, was chill, and my father, forloss of blood and stiffness of his wounds, lacked warmth, but Talboyswould not have it.

  "There be worse things than cold," said he; "'tis not the first timethat I have passed the night on the field of battle, and I liked itworse than the fighting. There be evil creatures about, I warrant you.The birds that haunt such places are no doves, but kites and carrioncrows, and it would be well they should not spy us. They have a keensight of their own, and a bit of smoke would guide them finely." So wewere content to abide as we were.

  I purposed to watch that night, and would have sworn that by no chanceshould sleep overcome me. And yet I slept, and this, if I rememberright, before midnight. As long as my father was awake 'twas easyenough to resist, but when he fell into a slumber, which he did, asnear as I could guess, about two hours after sunset, I soon began tonod for all my good resolutions and endeavours.

  'Twas just growing light the next morning when I was awaked by voicesraised in anger hard by me. Lifting myself to my feet, which forstiffness I did with no small difficulty, I saw a stranger whom JohnTalboys held by the collar of his coat. He was a man of a thicksetframe, somewhat under the common stature, his face burned by the sunto a very dark brown that showed somewhat strangely against his light,yellow hair, and eyes as blue as ever I saw. He had not altogether theaspect of an Englishman, and his speech, too, though ready enough, hada certain accent as of a foreigner. I liked not his look; there wassomewhat greedy and cunning, ay, and cruel, too, in his face, so faras one could see it for the thick beard that he wore over his chin andlips, ay, and up to his cheek-bones.

  "Nay, my good man," I heard him say to John Talboys, "I meant no harm.I am a poor pedlar, and there is my pack, which I left above, towitness for me. And see, I have not a weapon, so that I could not doany damage if I would."

  "'Tis fine talking," said John Talboys, holding his coat firmly thewhile; "I warrant, an I searched thee, I should find a sharp knife,wherewith thou couldst shift in such warfare as thou wagest as well aswith a sword or musket. Thou art a pedlar, forsooth. Doubtless, andhast other trades, too, to eke out thy profits in these hard times.Didst think to find customers in this hollow, that thou camestcreeping into it? Is it thus that pedlars sell their goods, by puttingtheir hands in men's pockets? As for thy pack, I doubt not it is therewhere thou sayest it is, but I reckon that thou thoughtest to carry itaway hence not lighter, but heavier: a ring, or a chain, or akerchief, or a pair of hose, or a doublet, so they were not stained byblood, would have served thy purpose well, and the better that thoupayest no price for them, save a thrust with thy knife, if a man be soset against all reason that he will not part with them to an honesttrader like thee for nought."

  "Nay, my good friend," said the pedlar, and I noticed that his speechwas the less English-like the more haste he made to get out his words,"nay, I am a Christian man, I have never harmed wounded men in mylife."

  "Thou a Christian man!" answered John, with great scorn and contempt;"if thou art not Judas or Barabbas by name, may I never taste spicedale at Christmas again. I know thy sort, the eagles--God save themark! I should say rather the carrion crows that are gathered togetherwheresoever the carrion is. But it was ill-luck of thine that broughtthee here to-day."

  Therewith John shook him as a terrier dog may shake a rat, but myfather, who had been looking very steadfastly at the stranger,signified by his gesture that he should stay his hand. This done, hespake a few words in a tongue which I knew to be German, though Iunderstood it not. The stranger grew pale, so far as his sun-burningwould suffer him, and began to answer in the same language, but myfather broke in upon him with, "Nay, man, speak English, for I wouldhave no secrets from these." Thereupon the stranger said, "Do notthink too ill of me, honoured sir, if I follow for a livelihood such atrade as these bad times have left me. There is but a poor marketnowadays for my wares, for the war has devoured all the money in theland; and if I eke out my living by the war, what harm?"

  "Nay, friend," said my father, "'tis not that war has come upon theehere, and spoilt thy trade. Thou followest the war, and thy trade islittle else than a pretext and cloak for other things. Did I not seethee twenty years ago, and that many hundred miles hence, doing thesame things, ay, and with the same excuse upon thy lips, that thouwast a poor trader whom the evil war time had brought to ruin? Dostremember that morning in Bohemia, and the provost-marshal's manstanding with his hand on thy collar as John Talboys is standing now,ay, and another thing, that is lacking here, a gallows hard by?"

  The stranger joined his hands like one that made supplication, andcast a look behind him as if he expected to see the gallows treeagain.

  "Nay," said my father, "I cannot harm thee an I would. Thou knowest, Idoubt not, that we are three of the party that had the worst ofyesterday's fight, and one of them wounded to the death. But thou wastfull of promises that day thou wottest of. Hast a mind to redeem themnow?"

  "What can I do for you, honoured sir?" the man answered, and I, whowas looking hard at him, thought that he looked somewhat less of aknave that he did at the first.

  "Tell us, then," said my father, "dost thou know of any family ofcharitable folk where a wounded man may bestow himself for a few daystill he die? Thy pedlar's trade takes thee everywhere, and, whateverthy own ways, of which I will not judge, thou canst discern doubtlessbetween the good and the bad."

  The man stood musing awhile, then he said to himself:

  "Ah! I have it. Master Ellgood is the man, an his house be not toofar. This Master Ellgood," he went on, turning to my father, "is aminister that was dispossessed of his place; why I know not, for I donot understand such matters; but all the country side is full of hisgoodness. He asks no questions of those whom he helps; 'tis enoughthat they are in need. I know him and his household well, though theybe but poor customers to me--a white kerchief now and then, or a bitof grey silk, or some yards of stout sad-coloured stuff, for the youngmadam's dress--cheap things all of them that do not pay for thecarrying. But they that buy much have for the most part little togive; and Master Ellgood's folk, I doubt not, will serve thy turnbetter than any other in these parts. But 'tis a longish way fromhere, a matter of a mile and a half or more. The house stands in awood; it had b
een the abode of an old curmudgeon that had never apenny to spare for pedlar or poor man; 'twas a good day for thecountryside when it came with a fair estate round it to MasterEllgood. None that needed help have ever failed to have it of hishands."

  "We will cast ourselves on the good man's charity," said my father. "Isee in this matter the guiding of God (for 'tis not, I am assured,mere chance that sent this stranger here to-day), and we cannot dobetter than follow it. But how shall I make the journey?"

  "That," said John Talboys, who never took his eyes from the pedlar, asif he expected him to break out into some villainy, "may easily bedone; we will make a litter, and Master Philip and I will carry you."

  And this we did, the pedlar, who had cunning fingers of his own,helping. When the litter was finished, the man said, "An it please youI will be your guide, for the way is one that a stranger may readilymiss; and I can take my turn of the carrying also. Only let me disposemy pack first in a safe place."

  And he ran up out of the hollow more nimbly than I should have thoughtit possible for one of his years.

  When he returned, which was in the space of a quarter of an hour orthereabouts, we went on our way. 'Twas indeed a way from which itwould have been easy to go astray, so many turns it had. At last inabout an hour's time, for our burden caused us to travel but slowly,we came to the house. It stood by the side of a green lane that ranthrough a wood, seeming to be but rarely used by horse or man. Infront was a garden, passing fair with flowers, pinks andsweet-williams and a host of others; the house itself too was coveredto the very eaves of the roof with roses and honeysuckle. And behind,though this I saw not at the time but only came to know afterwards,was the fairest spot that ever I saw. First there was a level space ofgrass, so smooth and green and well kept that our fairest lawns inOxford could scarce compare with it. 'Twas bounded on the right handby a low wall, grown over with ivy, and beyond this wall was a banksloping down to as clear and fair a brook as ever babbled in man'sear. On the left hand of the green was another wall, some six feethigh, with fruit trees of sundry kinds trained upon it. Beyond thegreen was a kitchen garden, as neatly ordered with all manner offruits and herbs as can be conceived, and behind this again a woodsloping upwards to a height of three hundred feet and more, with thebrook aforesaid leaping down through it and making, as I foundafterwards, the fairest pools that can be imagined.

  We rested the litter in the wood when first we came in sight of thehouse, and I went on alone to speak with the minister. 'Twas stillearly, scarce seven of the clock, if I remember, and the good man waspacing to and fro in the garden before his house, with a book in hishand, from which he read aloud as he walked. I could hear that it wasthe book of Common Prayer. He was a man of taller stature than thecommon, but that stooped forward somewhat, and slender as a youth. Ijudged him then, seeing him for the first time, to have been aboutsixty-five years of age, but learned afterwards that I had reckoned tohim ten years too many. Trouble had made him old before his time, atthe least, in look, for in some matters he was, as will be seen, oneof them that are ever young. There was such a sweetness in his face aspassed all skill of writer's pen or painter's brush to picture; hiseyes large and grey; his forehead broad, and wrinkled with many lines;his cheeks somewhat thin and tinged with a faint colour that would nothave ill-beseemed a maiden's face; his lips small but full, though notover-full (over-full lips, I have noted, seem to show a passionatetemper, and over-thin, a cruel); his hair, white as silver, fellalmost to his shoulders. He looked, I do remember to have thought, asmight an angel that had grown old. For dress he wore a cassock, tiedabout his middle with a woollen band of very rusty brown, and greyhose, and shoes with black buckles. On his head was a skull cap ofblack velvet, no less worn than the cassock.

  I waited till he should see me, which, so diligently did he read hisbook, he did not till he paced up and down some five or six times. Butwhen he had ended his reading of the Psalms for the morning--for itwas with them that he was engaged--he looked up, saying aloud at thesame time the last words of the seventy-second Psalm,[5] "Thou leddestThy people like sheep by the hand of Moses and Aaron;" and he added,"O Lord, by whom wilt Thou lead them now? for leading they sorelywant!" Thereupon his eye fell on me, and I must confess that the goodman started somewhat at the sight of me. Nor was this to be wonderedat, for I had all the stains of battle upon me, even my face beingsplashed with blood. But this was but for a moment; he said, "Can Iserve you, sir?" and when I had taken off my hat, "Nay, be covered."Then I set forth the whole matter to him, telling him of my father'sestate, and of myself, and at the last showing him Sir ThomasFairfax's paper, that he might feel the more secure in giving shelterto one that was not of the winning side. "Nay, my son," said the goodman, when I showed him this last, "I need no authority to shelter thesick and wounded. For that the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew[6] isauthority sufficient. Yet this paper will be useful for the presentdistress, and save, may be, some strife and argument."

  [5] The last of the Psalms appointed for morning service on the fifteenth day of the month.

  [6] The parable of the Judge, the sheep, and the goats.

  Then he called aloud, "Cicely!" whereat there came running out of thecottage a maid of some seventeen years. She was of the middle height,or somewhat more, of a fair complexion, somewhat pale, but not withthe paleness of one that is troubled with sickness, her eyes of assweet a blue as I have ever seen in a woman's face, her forehead lowand somewhat broad, and her hair, that was most smoothly ordered,without any of the tricks that young maids will sometimes affect, of asingular bright chestnut colour. That I noted all these things at thisfirst seeing of her, I cannot affirm, though I do believe that I did;but of this I am assured, that I deemed her at first sight to be, asindeed she was, of as sweet and virginal an aspect as ever woman had.

  "Cicely," said the old man, "get ready the guest chamber, with allspeed. 'Tis for a gentleman that has been sore wounded." Then, turningto me, "You had best go at once and bring your father. All things willbe ready ere you come again."

  So I hastened back to where I had left my father and John Talboys. Andwe two carried him to the cottage, and bestowed him, the old man andhis daughter helping, in the guest room, which was as clean and sweeta chamber as ever I saw, though but humbly furnished. And MasterEllgood--for that was the old man's name--dressed his wound, having,as it appeared, no little knowledge of these matters.

  "To find the bullet," he said, "passes my little skill, and yet itshould be found. Haply we can get Master Parker from Leicester, thatis the most learned surgeon in these parts. Meanwhile we will giveyour father such ease and comfort as we may."

  I was for going without delay to Leicester, but Master Ellgood wouldnot suffer it. "I know so much," said he, "of surgery, that I amassured that in your father's present state no man, be he theskilfullest surgeon alive, could search for and take out the bullet.Besides this, you had best not venture yourself at this present timeat Leicester. I hear that the King's army took it with circumstancesof no small barbarity, and I doubt whether even the Lord General'ssafe-conduct will avail you."

  With this I was constrained to be content; but six days after MasterEllgood judged it well that the surgeon should be sent for, ifperchance he might be able to come, of which, indeed, there was greatdoubt. Therefore, having borrowed a horse from one of the neighbours,and, indeed, it was no small favour in those days to lend a horse, andtaking with me also a letter from Master Ellgood, I rode to Leicester.John Talboys had been earnest to go in my place. "Nay," said our host,"you are a soldier, and can no more hide your soldiership than you canmake yourself invisible. And 'tis likely that there are some inLeicester who know your face, and haply the weight of your arm,whereas Master Philip here has been diligent at his books for manymonths past, and has the air of a scholar."

  On the twenty-first day of June, therefore, being just one fortnightafter the battle, I went to Leicester. The town was in a terribleconfusion, having suffered two captures in
the course of fourteendays. Many of the townsmen had fled; indeed, few were left save of thepoorer sort, so that there was scarce a shop open in the place. Somewere shut up, but some were still as they had been left by thesoldiers that plundered them (for the town had been most cruellysacked by the King's men), and there was scarce a window in the townthat was not broken.

  By great good fortune I found Master Parker, newly returned to hishouse, and about to sit down to his dinner. When I told him my errand,he cried out upon me: "What! ride a matter of twenty miles to see onewounded man? 'Tis manifestly impossible. Why, boy, there are twohundred wounded men within a call of this room, and some of them ascurious cases as anyone could ask to see. I could fill my day threetimes over, and not stir a hundred yards hence."

  Hearing him speak thus, I bethought me of Master Ellgood's letter, andshowed it to him.

  "Nay," said he, "why did you not bring this out before? There is noman whom I honour more than Thomas Ellgood, and I would ride a hundredmiles to serve him. He has a pretty knowledge of physic and surgery,too, for a lay person, and perceives, too, which is a rare thing insuch a case, where his knowledge ends. And now let us think how thisbusiness may be best managed. I must even make two days out of one, ifthe one be not long enough. We will set out about ten of the clockto-night, and so I shall be here for my day's work to-morrow. And now,sir, you must dine with me."

  This I did gladly enough. Dinner ended, said Master Parker: "Divertyourself with these books. Here is Galen, and Pliny the elder, anindustrious gatherer of facts, but over-credulous. Or, if you likesomething lighter, here are some poems by Mr. John Milton, a greatfriend, they tell me, of the Lord General, and here are the plays ofWilliam Shakespeare, if the saints permit me to make mention of thingsso profane. I would counsel you not to stir abroad, for if anyoneshould chance to remember you there might be some trouble."

  Nevertheless I ventured forth, being as is the wont of young men, wisein my own conceit, and save that some boys cried after me, my hairbeing somewhat longer than is the fashion among the puritanical folk,suffered no harm. Nay, I had some pleasant talk with an honestsoldier[7] that I met upon the wall. He seemed, by his accent, whichwas such as they use in the eastern parts of England, to be but oflowly birth; but yet his talk was full of wit and fine fancy. Nogentleman, were he the finest scholar in Oxford, could have spokenbetter. I repent me that I did not ask his name.

  [7] Perhaps this common soldier was John Bunyan, who was probably in Leicester at this time.

  At ten of the clock that night we set forth, and came to MasterEllgood's house without any misadventure. Hearing that my father wasawake, and, indeed, he rarely slept but an hour or so at one time,Master Parker would see him at once. He examined the shoulder and armwith great carefulness; and when he had made an end, my father said,"And now, sir, tell me how it is with me."

  "It might have been worse," said he.

  "Ay," answered my father, "if the bullet had entered some six inchesmore to the right it had made a shorter work with me. But whether thathad been worse, who can say? save, perhaps, that a man may well havesome days wherein to prepare himself. But speak out, sir; I have notfaced Death so many times in the field that I should fear him in thechamber."

  "'Tis not," said the surgeon, "in human skill to make a cure in thiscase."

  "So be it," answered my father, "if such is the will of God. But tellme, sir, how long I have to live."

  "Some five days I should say," the surgeon made answer.

  "God reward you, sir," said my father, "for your trouble; and now, mygood friends, and you, son Philip, leave me alone. When a man hearssuch tidings as this, though, indeed, they be nothing more than Ilooked for, he would fain think over them in solitude."

  So we left him. About two hours after dawn the good surgeon set forthon his way back to Leicester. Looking in at my father about the sametime, I saw that he was sleeping peacefully; and, indeed, he did notawake till seven of the clock, which had not happened before since hiscoming to the house.