The Young Cavalier: A Story of the Civil Wars

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER X

  ON BOARD THE "EMMA FARLEIGH"

  I AWOKE to consciousness with the sensation of being tossed upon thewaves, though, fortunately, not in them.

  I was lying upon the wet deck of a small fishing craft; my head wassupported by a coil of rope, while my coat and doublet had beenremoved and a bandage placed around my shoulder. My left arm was in asling.

  A man was kneeling by my side to prevent my being slung bodily tolee'ard with the heel of the craft, for a steady breeze hummedthrough the rigging, making the vessel lie over to it as she tore onher course, while ever and again a sting of salt spray came dashingover the low bulwark.

  It was just growing light, a grey misty morning, while in the east arosy red betokened the dawning of a stormy day.

  "Better?" asked the man with a peculiar grunt, as I opened my eyes.

  "Where am I?" I asked drowsily.

  "Safe aboard th' _Emma Farleigh_," he remarked, "an' well-nighhalf-way over."

  "Over where?" I exclaimed wonderingly.

  The man regarded me for a few moments with mouth agape.

  "You'd best bide quiet a bit," said he. "Maybe you'll still bewandering in t' head."

  "No, I am not," I maintained. "I was shot at, and my horse carried meover the cliff. But where is this craft bound for?"

  The man did not answer me, but whistled down a small hatchway.

  "Here, Dick, on deck wi' ye."

  A man appeared, his burly head surmounted by a shock of matted redhair, and his ruddy face hidden by a long beard of similar hue.

  "I be afeard Maaester Jarge be queer in 'is 'ead," whispered the firstseaman in a loud aside. "He axed where we was bound for."

  "France, Maaester Jarge, France," said the ruddy one in a tone thatwas meant to be soothing. "Us'll drop ye safe in Cherbourg aforenight if this breeze 'olds."

  "I am not Master George, whoever he may be," I exclaimed withconsiderable heat. "And I don't want to go to France, so why am Ibeing taken there?"

  Both men looked at me in astonishment.

  "Lie down an' bide quiet a bit, maaester," repeated the first.

  "What? Will you not take my word for it?" I shouted, raising myselfon my elbow. "I am Humphrey Markham, of Hopton's Regiment, now incamp at Lostwithiel." And as I proceeded briefly with my tale, I sawthe look of incredulity on the men's faces give place to expressionsof astonishment.

  "Put your hellum hard up," shouted Dick to the steersman. "And let weget back as fast as us can. 'Twould ha' been a sorry pass if we hadnataken the broad pieces from they afore us started."

  "You'll not be from Carnwall, young maaester?" asked one of thefishermen.

  "No, from Hamptonshire," I replied. "But I know several people inCornwall, and my greatest friend is Master Ralph, or, rather, SirRalph Granville, of Tregetty."

  "I knows Tregetty well," said Dick. "Two brothers o' we were on th'estate. But why Sir Ralph? I thought as 'twas Sir Bevil."

  "Sir Bevil has fallen in the fight with twenty of his followers," Ireplied.

  "Fifty curses o' St. Winnow on the rebels," exclaimed the Cornishman,shaking his fist in the direction of the invisible English coast."But, ne'er mind, young maaester, a frien' o' Sir Ralph be a friend o'we; us'll put ye ashore safe an' sound."

  "Breeze be freshenin', Dick," shouted the man at the tiller. "'Twillbe as much as us can do to make Plymouth."

  "Keep her at it as close as she'll lie," replied Dick, giving a swiftglance to windward. "One port's as good as another to we, for a bit."

  I felt hungry and thirsty, and one of the men brought me a kind ofpasty and a cup of cider, and as I ate they told me, in a richCornish burr, of the circumstances that led to my being rescued fromthe sea.

  The _Emma Farleigh_, of the port of Looe, had been engaged to cruiseoff Lantivet Bay, in order to embark the young Squire of Trevarthake,who, having slain in a duel a relative of an influential gentleman ofBodmin, sought to flee the country.

  News of his intended flight had been noised abroad, and a party ofhorsemen had tried to intercept him. These were the men whom I hadseen, and who tried to get between me and the sea just before myhorse took a flying leap. In mutual ignorance, I took them to befriends, and they imagined me to be the man they were to arrest.

  The crew of the _Emma Farleigh_ saw me take the leap from the cliffsfull forty feet above the sea, and never doubting that I was theyoung Squire of Trevarthake, they lowered a small boat and picked meup in an unconscious condition, and, strange to say, my sword wasstill gripped tightly in my right hand. They had, they told me, toforce my fingers from the hilt.

  When they had me safe on board the _Emma Farleigh_ they found that Ihad a pistol bullet embedded in my left shoulder, but, being ignorantof surgery and unable to extract the ball, they washed and bandagedthe wound the best they were capable of doing, and now, finding thatI was not the Squire of Trevarthake, they had put their vessel aboutand were making for land.

  About midday the wind veered and increased to a regular gale from thesou'-west, and with the least possible show of canvas the staunchlittle craft flew before the howling tempest.

  I begged to be allowed to remain on deck, but Dick and his crew wereobdurate, and insisted on carrying me below, where in a small andstuffy cabin I was tossed hither and thither, racked with pain, andshowing symptoms of fever, while at every pitch of the vessel Ithought she was plunging to the bottom. How long I remained below Iknow not, but suddenly the hatch was lifted off, and a flood ofbright light filled the little compartment. The next instant Dick andone of his crew crawled down the steep ladder, and, lifting me intheir arms, began to make their way back on deck.

  Directly I was taken on deck they closed down the hatch, and, layingme on the heaving, slippery planks, passed a rope round my body toprevent my being thrown against the lee bulwarks. All three men wereon deck, looking anxiously ahead. As the vessel heeled I could see arange of lofty rugged cliffs, its foot being beaten by a long line ofboiling white water, which at intervals leaped high against the dark,frowning face of the rock.

  "Can ye do't?" asked one of the men in a stentorian voice that wasbarely audible above the howling of the wind.

  "Must, or sink," shouted Dick grimly as he relieved the man at thelong tiller.

  We had reached the end of the line of cliffs that terminated in atowering peak, dropping sheer into the sea, and, having cleared thisiron-bound shore, Dick thrust his huge bulk against the tiller.

  Slowly the _Emma Farleigh's_ head swung round, and now right ahead Icould see a bay of storm-tossed water, with a rocky, though lower,line of cliffs in the background, and a long line of milk-white foamstretching from shore to shore.

  With a roll that threatened to shake the masts out of her, the _EmmaFarleigh_ was soon in the thick of it; broken water poured over thebows and both quarters at the same time, while Dick was heaving atthe tiller to try and keep the boat on her course.

  Crash into the line of white foam she bore; there was a shock thatmade the vessel quiver from keel to truck; another heave, followed bya slighter yet sickening thud; then, as if sliding down a steep hill,the _Emma Farleigh_ glided into deep water.

  We had crossed the bar.

  Now the high land sheltered us, and, gliding over a nearly calm sea,the craft ascended a narrow creek, on the left side of which I coulddistinguish a castle bristling with guns, while the light played uponthe steel caps and morions of the soldiers, who were intentlywatching our progress.

  Then a little straggling village came in sight, and at an order thesails fell on deck in a confused heap, the anchor was dropped, andthe staunch little craft lay riding to her hempen cable against theswift-running tide.

  "Where are we?" I asked faintly.

  "Salcombe," he replied. "An' yon's Fort Charles that still holds outfor the King."

  And even as I looked everything seemed to fade from my view, and Isank senseless on the deck.

  * * * * *

  When I opened my eyes I found myself in a wai
nscoted room, with largebeams running across the ceiling.

  I particularly noticed these beams, possibly because they were thefirst objects that met my eyes, for I was lying in bed. Spotlesslywhite were the bedclothes, sweet-smelling flowers were placed aboutthe room, while through the open casement window I could see astretch of placid water with boats passing up and down, while thehillside in the distance was covered with yellow fields of ripeninggrain.

  "Where am I?" I asked myself, and "Why am I here?" And gradually Iremembered the incidents that had taken place during the eventfulperiod since I left the camp at Lostwithiel.

  I tried to raise myself, but a dull pain in my shoulder and an utterfeeling of weakness prevented me, and I had perforce to lie still andthink.

  Presently the door was quietly opened and a woman came softly intothe room.

  She was middle-aged, with calm, sweet-natured features, and her linenfrills and ruffs were as white as snow. She noticed that I was awake,and coming over to my bedside, she asked me how I felt.

  I replied that I hardly knew what to say, and then asked where I was,and what was I doing here?

  "The _Emma Farleigh_ has left," she told me.

  "Left," I repeated blankly. "When?"

  "Three weeks agone," she answered.

  "Have I been here three weeks?" I asked, amazed.

  "More than that; 'twill be four come next Thursday. Now, drink this,and try to sleep once more, for you've been very ill."

  Obediently I did as I was told, and after a long sleep I awokefeeling considerably refreshed.

  "Art better, Master Markham?" asked my most attentive nurse.

  "Ay, mistress; but what is your name, and how came you to know mine?"

  "They of the Cornish fishing boat that brought you here told me aboutyou," she replied, smiling. "And my name, an it please you, isWiddicombe."

  "How can I thank you for your kindness, Mistress Widdicombe? But tellme, how came I here?"

  Briefly she told me that the men of the _Emma Farleigh_ had broughtme ashore, and, filled with compassion--for, she said, I bore astrong resemblance to her only son, who had been slain at Strattonfighting bravely for His Majesty--she had brought me to her house.Here a surgeon from Fort Charles, skilled in the treatment ofgun-shot wounds, had probed and extracted Chaloner's bullet, and fornearly four weeks I lay unconscious.

  During that time either Mistress Widdicombe or her husband, who was asergeant of foot under Sir Edmund Fortescue, had watched day andnight at my bedside, and I undoubtedly owed my life to the generousdevotion of this worthy Devonshire couple.

  Thanks to a healthy constitution, together with the fact that I hadled a rigorous outdoor life, my wound healed rapidly, and before theautumn leaves had begun to fall I was able to get about.

  My intentions for the future were torn by various influences. My dutytowards my home urged me to return to Ashley Castle, for even now theRoundheads might be hammering at its gates, though, thanks to mypistol-shot, I had little to fear from the renegade, CaptainChaloner, while my sense of duty towards my sovereign called me torejoin the army in Cornwall.

  Then came the news of the second affair at Newbury, and that the Kinghad retired into winter quarters at Oxford.

  "'Tis no use thinking to rejoin your comrades in Cornwall, MasterMarkham," remarked Sergeant Widdicombe one morning as he came fromFort Charles, where the work of strengthening that fortress wasprogressing rapidly.

  "And why not?" I asked anxiously, fearing that some disaster hadovertaken the King's forces in the west.

  "Because the army is disbanded," he replied. "News has just arrivedthat the rebellion has been stamped out beyond the Tamar. Only a fewfortresses are to be garrisoned, and the rest of the troops have beendismissed."

  I could not help feeling glad at this intelligence, as my mind couldnow be made up as to what course I ought to pursue, and I resolved tobid adieu to my kindly benefactors directly I was strong enough toundertake the journey home.

  At length Sergeant Widdicombe was ordered to ride over to DartmouthCastle with a party of men to bring back some barrels of powder, and,as it was a chance for me to begin my homeward journey, it wasarranged that I should accompany him, for there were greaterpossibilities of getting a passage on a vessel from Dartmouth thanthere were from a little fishing village like Salcombe.

  Mistress Widdicombe, I could see, was sad at the thought of myleaving, and, for the matter of that, so was I, for I had taken agreat liking for the kind, motherly Devonshire woman.

  However, the time for parting arrived, and I braced myself up to saygood-bye. Mistress Widdicombe was sitting in the large tiledliving-room, and as I entered I saw to my delight something I hadnever hoped to see again, for on the oaken table lay my sword.

  Stained with sea water was the Spanish leather scabbard, yet themetal hilt looked as fresh as of yore. Almost reverently I drew theblade, and, marvellous to behold, the steel glittered like a ray oflight.

  "I thought 'twould be a surprise for you, Master Markham," exclaimedthe good dame, as I lovingly handled the trusty blade. "Dick broughtit home the day before he sailed. Sure, 'twas dull and tarnished withsea water, but a little polishing soon set that right. But now,Master Humphrey, you must needs be off. May God be with ye and takecare of ye." And with a hearty sounding kiss that completely took meaback, the motherly Mistress Widdicombe pushed me out of the room, asif unable to control her feelings. Such was indeed the case, for as Ipassed by the window I saw her sitting by the table with her headburied in her arms.

  The sergeant, her husband, saw her too.

  "Poor old Mary," he exclaimed. "'Tis like losing a second son. Faith!I never saw her so much downcast since the news o' Peter's death atStratton."

  The soldiers were already waiting in the boat we took our places, andwere soon shooting across Salcombe Harbour, and as we reached thelittle quay at Portlemouth I saw a white kerchief fluttering from thewindow of the house I had just left.

  I waved my hand in return; then, with a gulping sensation in mythroat, I turned away. A huge lumbering waggon, drawn by six powerfulhorses, was awaiting us. Telling me to take my place within, SergeantWiddicombe gave the order, and the convoy set out on the road toDartmouth.

  After we had gained the summit of a long steep hill, the sergeantgave his horse to a trooper to lead, and joined us in the waggon. Itwas slow work, continually up and down, and I asked my companion whythey had gone by road instead of by an easier passage by sea.

  "You'll see anon," he replied gravely, and immediately changed thesubject.

  It was early morn when we started, and about noon we reached thebrink of a steep declivity. Below us was a stretch of level road,quite two miles in length, which separated the sea from a lagoon-likeexpanse of water.

  At the end of the road, as far as I could see, the land rose to agreat height, terminating in frowning cliffs, while away in thedistance several rocky islands broke the sky-line.

  But what attracted my attention most was the presence of a number ofmen-of-war, their lofty yellow and black sides shining in thebrilliant sunshine as they rode at anchor about a mile from theshore.

  "There," exclaimed Sergeant Widdicombe, indicating the ships--"thereis the reason why we could not sail round. The rebel fleet keeps astrict blockade upon Dartmouth."

  "Then I cannot take ship from Dartmouth?" I asked.

  "A small vessel might slip out and stand in between the rocks you seeyonder," he replied. "But that is no affair of mine, though you'llfind out soon enough."

  "Think we can manage it, Fox?" he continued, addressing a trooper,"or shall we take the inland road, though 'tis far more hilly?"

  "'Twill be safe enow if half the troop ride inside the waggon and therest follow us later with the led horses," replied the man addressed.

  "Very well, then," said Widdlcombe, "we can but try."

  So half the soldiers dismounted and took their seats under thecovered waggon; two more, putting waggoners' smocks over their buffcoats and stowing their
iron caps under the seat, accompanied thecart, one driving, the other sheltering close to the side of thehood.

  The rest of the troopers, with their comrades' horses, remainedbehind under cover of a clump of trees, and at the word of commandthe waggon began to descend the hill.

  Directly it gained the level road, the driver whipped up the horses,and the cumbersome wain jolted along at a quick pace but barely hadit gone a hundred yards than we saw boats being lowered from therebel ships.

  "Don't spare the whip," exclaimed Sergeant Widdicombe. "Heavenforfend they do not open fire."

  "'Tis useless for the men to tarry behind," urged Fox, the corporal."Make them ride on ahead and hold the road."

  In obedience to a signal the rest of the troopers galloped up, and,soon overtaking us, gained the rising ground in front. The horsesstrained at their traces, the waggon swayed, groaned, and rattled,and all the while Widdicombe kept a sharp eye on the advancing boats.

  As the keel of the first touched the sand, we tore past the placewhere the rebels had intended to cut us off, greatly to their rageand mortification; and at the rate at which we were going pursuitseemed hopeless, and the soldiers gave vent to a hearty cheer.

  But their exultation was short-lived, for at that moment a cloud ofsmoke burst from the side of the nearest ship, and the next instantour two leading horses were stricken down by a round shot.

  It was the work of a few seconds to cut the traces and drag themangled carcases from the road, but with the reduced number of ourteam the progress of the waggon was proportionately slower, and itwas evident that our pursuers would overtake us.

  When we reached the foot of the steep road that wound its way up thehillside in a gigantic curve, the jaded beasts were exhausted.Jumping from the waggon, the soldiers strove their utmost to push itup the incline, but after less than twenty yards the hopelessness ofthe task became apparent. The rebels, breathless with running, wereless than a hundred yards behind.

  "Swing the waggon round!" shouted Widdicombe. "And cut the traces."

  The next instant the heavy waggon was drawn across the road, whilethe horses were led further up the hill to the shelter of a densewood.

  Unslinging their petronels and ordering their muskets, the trooperslay behind the waggon or under the cover afforded by the rocks by theroadside, whilst I, unable by reason of my arm being still in a slingto load a pistol, could only wait, sword in hand, for the possibilityof the rebels coming within sword's reach.

  There were at least eighty of the enemy against our twenty-two men,though the nature of our position counted for much. Had Widdicombe sowished, he could, by abandoning the waggon, easily have made aretreat, all his party being mounted, but flight was far from histhoughts.

  "Lie down!" he exclaimed sternly to me, and barely had I takenshelter behind a fern-clad bank than both sides opened fire.

  Splinters flew from the woodwork of the waggon, bullets knocked uplittle clouds of white dust as they struck the road behind us, yetwith the greatest coolness the sergeant continued to give the wordsof the firing manual to his trained men, as, blowing, priming,casting about, and discharging their pieces, the soldiers of theconvoy kept up a steady fire upon the enemy.

  Thick smoke enveloped us, but through the drifting vapour I could getan occasional glimpse of the Roundheads, who, in an ever-increasingsemicircle, strove to take us in front and on our right flank. Ourleft, fortunately, consisted of an almost sheer face of rock.

  "Two men are down, sergeant," exclaimed a white-faced soldier on myleft. He was a mere boy compared to me in size, though no doubtolder, and it was his first time under fire.

  "What odds if twenty are down?" retorted Widdicombe grimly. "Go onfiring," and plucking up courage by the sergeant's example, therecruit bore himself right manfully.

  For half an hour the firing continued, without the rebels gaining anymaterial advantage, but Widdicombe began to look grave, for I knewhis thoughts were on the limited supply of ammunition.

  Another man was down, writhing with a ball through his shoulder, andin addition five men had expended their charges. These latter he sentto remount their horses in readiness to cover their retreat.

  "We must needs abandon the wain, Master Markham," he said. "Though Icall you to witness I did my best to save it."

  "'Tis but a waggon," I replied, wondering at the stubbornness withwhich he defended it.

  "Ay," he replied. "But most of Sir Edmund Fortescue's gold plate ishidden between the double bottom!"

  Just then two of the men who were lining the roadside knelt up anddischarged their pieces at some of the rebels who daringly attemptedto scale the rocks on our right, and on looking to see the nature ofthe attack, Widdicombe gave a shout of encouragement.

  "A rescue! A rescue!"

  Splashing through the shallows of the lake past which we had come wasa whole regiment of horse.

  Re-forming on the level road, they drew swords, and with loose reindashed to take our foes in the rear. A few remained behind, and,unslinging their musketoons, opened fire on the boats, causing theboat-keepers to push off in terror.

  Caught in a trap, the rebel fire slackened, and although a few shotsfired from the ships whistled over our heads or rolled harmlesslyalong the soft ground, nothing could stop the headlong charge of theRoyalist horse.

  Like a whirlwind the cavalry were upon their demoralised foes, andafter a few sweeps of glittering blades as the remainder of therebels, who still showed fight, fell before the resistless onslaught,the combat was over.

  The timely yet unexpected arrival of Forde's regiment of horse fromDartmouth saved the convoy, and the rebel fleet, under AdmiralBatten, had the mortification of seeing thirty-two soldiers andseamen marched off as prisoners of war, while twenty-eight more werekilled, either during their attack upon us or in the charge of thehorse.

  "Ay, 'tis the last of Sir Edmund's gold plate," remarked SergeantWiddicombe as he rejoined me, "though none of the regiment save Iknew of it. The first part was sent to His Majesty at thecommencement of the war, and all that Sir Edmund has left is thesilver, though, methinks, that must also go for the upkeep of FortCharles."

  Without further incident the convoy reached Dartmouth Castle. Thesergeant handed in his precious charge and received the requiredbarrels of powder; then, having brought me to the notice of a captainwho was responsible for the transport service, he bade me farewell.

  Generous at heart, courageous in body, Sergeant Widdicombe had gainedmy greatest admiration and esteem, and as he went I felt that anotherlink of friendship--the second that day--had been ruthlessly severed.