At nightfall they reached Kinver Heath, where they got hopelessly lost; then, in the dawn, when they were so utterly exhausted with their many hours in the saddle that rest became imperative, a Mr. Charles Giffard took charge of the party and led them to the ruined monastery of Whiteladies.
Here they learned that Leslie and his three thousand were close by at Tong Castle, and further attempts were made to persuade Charles to join him; but the King had very wisely decided never to place himself in the power of the Covenanters again. Buckingham and the rest, with the exception of Lord Wilmot, joined Leslie. How right Charles was in refusing to be of their company we see from his own words when he afterwards related his adventures: ‘As I did before believe, they did not reach six miles after they had got to them, but they were all routed by a single troop of horse, which shows that my opinion was not wrong, in not sticking to men who had run away.’
At Whiteladies, the Pendereis, a poor family of Catholic woodcutters who tenanted the house, appear upon the scene. There were five brothers, Richard, Humphrey—William, who lived at Boscobel close by, and two others—and it was largely owing to their loyalty that Charles eluded the Roundheads who were thick as flies about the countryside during the first days of his flight.
It was at once decided that the King must be disguised. So they dressed him in a pair of grey cloth breeches, a leather doublet, green jerkin, and a greasy old steeple hat. Lord Wilmot hacked off his dark curls with a carving knife, while Richard penderel trimmed them with a pair of shears, and Charles, laughing, blacked his own face with soot from the chimney. Then he was given a billhook to carry, and, as they considered it too dangerous for him to remain in the house, turned out to hide as best he could in a nearby wood called Spring Coppice.
The weather was cold and wet, the King utterly exhausted from lack of sleep, and it must have been a miserable day that he spent on the damp ground, the rain dripping through the trees and only a single blanket for cover. He started up from an uneasy doze when Elizabeth Yates, a relative of the penderels, was sent to him with food, and fearful at finding a woman in the secret of his identity exclaimed, ‘Good woman! can you be faithful to a distressed Cavalier?’, to which she loyally replied, ‘Yes, sir, I had rather die than discover you.’
The early hours of the night were passed at the house of old Mrs. penderel, Hobbal Grange; the old lady giving thanks to God that he had blessed her with five stalwart sons, that they might succour the King in his extremity, and here it was decided that the King should take the name of William Jackson. Charles was in favour of trying to reach London, but the others dissuaded him from it, and to quote his own words, ‘A new decision was taken, which was to get over the Severn into Wales, and so get to Swansea or some other seaport town that I knew had commerce with France.’
As a first step Richard and the King set out for a house called Maddeley, the property of a Mr. Wolfe. Upon the way they were nearly shot by a miller who mistook them for thieves, and had to run for their lives. This adventure nearly proved the end of the wretched Charles. It was forty hours since he had slept, he was in a high fever from exposure, and had been compelled to throw away his shoes because his feet were so terribly galled. It seemed impossible for him to stagger further, yet with the help and encouragement of the faithful Richard he managed to reach his destination.
Richard was then sent ahead to sound Mr. Wolfe, who said at once that he would not incur the danger of harbouring a known Royalist “unless it were the King himself”. Richard made a clean breast of the matter, upon which the old gentleman replied that he would be willing to venture all he had in the world to secure the King, an answer that caused Charles considerable uneasiness, but he decided to chance Wolfe’s loyalty and had no reason to regret it.
The house being considered unsafe, the King was concealed under the hay in a nearby barn. There he spent the remainder of the night and the following day, then, being advised against the plan of crossing the Severn as too dangerous, he decided to return to Boscobel.
Fearing a fresh encounter with the shot-gun of the miller, they decided to recross the stream further along and now it was the sturdy Richard who broke down. Bursting into tears he declared that he could not swim, and urged the King to go on without him, but Charles, his courage renewed by rest and sleep, assured him that he would help him over somehow and boldly plunged into the stream.
Arrived at Boscobel once more, they breakfasted, and Charles learning that a Colonel Careless, who had led the last charge of the Cavaliers at Worcester, lay concealed close by, sent for him. It was decided that the two should spend the day together in the woods, and in the leafy branches of the Royal Oak Charles lay concealed while the Roundhead troopers searched the undergrowth below. The Cromwellians knew that he was somewhere in the immediate vicinity, so the King and Careless spent some anxious hours, hardly daring to shift their position when they were seized with cramp, or sore and aching from the knobbly nature of their perch.
When darkness fell, Careless killed a sheep and the King was helping to dismember it, when to his horror the owner appeared, catching them redhanded. But upon learning that the meat was for a fugitive Cavalier, and perhaps having more than a suspicion as to the Cavalier’s identity, he smiled and refused all payment for the animal.
That night and the following day, Charles lay concealed at Boscobel. The next, Humphrey penderel returned from paying his taxes at Shipnal and announced that a reward of £1,000 had been offered for the capture of the King, and it was in this notice that he was described so vividly as ‘a tall black man, above two yards high’.
Learning that Wilmot was in hiding at Mosley, in the house of a Mr. Whitgreave, he decided on joining him there. His feet were still so badly galled that he was unable to walk, so the penderels procured an old mill horse upon which he made the journey, all five brothers acting as an escort.
Father Huddlestone, a Roman Catholic priest, received Charles in a field near Mosley and led them to the house, where Whitgreave, not knowing which of the weary mud-stained party to salute, Wilmot made the King known with the words, ‘This is my master, your master, and the master of us all.’
The King’s blistered feet were bathed while he sat before a welcome fire, munching a biscuit and sipping a glass of wine. The difficulties of his situation were discussed and nothing daunted he declared, that if it would please God to send him an army of 10,000 good and loyal soldiers and subjects, he feared not to expel all these rogues forth out of his kingdom.
Two days were spent under Mr. Whitgreave’s friendly roof, but on the second morning Father Huddlestone was forced to hide him in his own priest’s-hole, since the Roundheads paid a surprise visit to the house.
The project of heading for London was revived, and Wilmot went to Bentley, the house of Colonel Lane, to ask his advice and assistance. Lane considered it too dangerous, but helpfully suggested that since his sister was about to set out on a visit to her cousin at Bristol, the King might accompany her in the guise of a servant.
Accordingly the following night, with a bag of sweets in his pocket which Mr. Whitgreave’s mother had pressed upon him because ‘he was but a boy’, he removed to Bentley, and in the morning set out with Miss Lane riding pillion behind him.
They had not been two hours upon the road when the horse cast a shoe, and at the village smithy, while the damage was being repaired, Charles asked for news. The smith replied that he had not yet heard if that rogue Charles Stuart were taken, upon which the King with subtle wit remarked, ‘If he were, he deserved to be hanged more than all the rest for bringing in the Scots.’
A little further on their road they encountered a large body of Roundheads who had halted by the wayside to rest their horses, but the King, trusting only in his servant’s clothes for disguise, rode boldly through them with the pretty Miss Lane perched on the back of his saddle.
They broke the journey that night at Long Marston, and Charles had to fend for himself in the servants’ quarters. As he was
seated by the kitchen fire, the cook asked him to wind up the jack, and he made such a mess of the business that the woman cried angrily, ‘What countryman are you, that you know not how to wind a jack?’ but he soothed her with the apt reply, ‘I am but a poor tenant’s son of Colonel Lane’s in Gloucestershire, and ‘tis seldom that we see roast meat’
The following night they put up at the Crown Inn at Cirencester and again Charles had to make the best of a hard bed and servants’ fare, but the next evening they successfully completed their hazardous journey and reached Mrs. Norton’s house at Abbots Leigh.
Here, once more, he was quartered with the servants, but Jane Lane told her relatives that the poor boy was suffering from an ague, sent him some soup from the dinner-table, and secured him a separate room. Yet her kindness was nearly his undoing, for a Dr. George, who had been Charles’s chaplain, was present, and since he fancied himself as a doctor, insisted on visiting the invalid. Fortunately he failed to recognise the King, as was also the case with one of the servants who had been a trooper in his own guards at Worcester. ‘ ’Tis said that I resemble him,’ declared Charles boldly upon discovering this. ‘Nay,’ declared the man, ‘he is three inches taller at least, and I’ll wager thee on it.’ Needless to say the bet was not accepted.
The following morning as he removed his hat on Miss Lane’s passing through the Hall, Pope, the butler, guessed his identity but proved a loyal and capable adherent. On his suggestion, Wilmot, who had been following at a distance, was sent to Colonel Francis Wyndham at Trent in the hope that he might be able to afford shelter for the King, and Pope himself went off to Bristol to try and secure a ship, and thus get him safely out of the country.
The week-end was spent at Abbots Leigh, and Pope returned, his efforts having met with no success, but Colonel Wyndham was willing to receive the King, and the trouble now was to get Charles out of the house. Mrs. Norton had miscarried of a still-born child and it was difficult for Jane Lane to leave her in such circumstances. This problem was solved by Pope, at whose suggestion Jane produced a forged letter, purporting to have come from her father with the news that he was dangerously ill. Having thus excused her hurried departure she set off again with Charles, spent the night at Castle Cary, where Lord Hertford’s steward found them temporary accommodation, and the next evening delivered her fugitive King safely into the hands of Colonel Wyndham.
At Trent, a number of the servants were in the secret, so Charles was able to shelter there for several days in the first comfort he had known since before Worcester. Colonel Giles Strangeways, a relative of Colonel Wyndham’s, was then approached to assist in securing a ship, but he was such a noted Royalist in those parts that he feared only to bring suspicion on his master by employing himself in such a matter. Instead, therefore, he sent Charles ‘300 broad pieces’, which were a most welcome gift, and Wyndham took upon himself the business of finding a ship going to Lyme for the purpose.
His efforts were successful and it was arranged through a Mr. Ellersdon that the vessel should be off Charmouth on the night of 22 September. A room was booked at the Queen’s Arms, and a little play staged to cover the activities of the party. The landlady was told that the room was taken for a gentleman who had stolen a young gentlewoman to marry her. Wilmot played the lover, Miss Juliana Coningsby, who had taken Jane Lane’s place, the fair maid, and Charles the latter’s servant. The three spent an anxious night, for the vessel failed to put in an appearance and they feared that they had been betrayed. At dawn, Wilmot set off to Bridport, where he learned the reason for the breakdown in their plans. Captain Limbry, the master of the craft, possessed a shrewish wife; her suspicions had been aroused by the news of his hurried departure to sea, and she had refused to allow him to leave the house on such dangerous business. On his protesting that he must, she had settled the matter by locking him in the cellar for the night.
Both Lyme and Bridport were swarming with Parliamentary troops, but Charles had promised to meet Wilmot in the latter, and nothing would deter him from keeping his appointment. When they rode into the town they found the yard of the best inn in the place filled with soldiers, but Charles, as usual, put a bold face on the matter and, dismounting from his horse, barged in amongst them. He was sworn at for his rudeness, but laughed the situation off, only to be accosted by the ostler, who cried, ‘Sure, sir—I know your face,’ and at that moment with the Roundheads crowding about him Charles was never in a more desperate situation. He kept his head, however, and entering into jovial conversation with the man, ascertained that he came from Exeter. ‘Why, then,’ laughed the King, ‘I was in service with a gentleman at Exeter—so ‘tis there we must have met.’
In these dangerous surroundings Charles passed the night, and the following morning narrowly escaped capture. Wilmot’s horse cast a shoe, and the blacksmith’s suspicions were aroused when he noticed the others to be of Midland make. He told his friend, a weaver, who in turn told the local minister. The Roundhead captain was informed, and finding Charles had left the town set out in hot pursuit.
The weaver, meanwhile, agog with curiosity, visited the inn and accosted the unsuspecting landlady. ‘Why—how now—it seems you are a maid of honour.’ ‘What mean you by that?’ replied the worthy woman. ‘Why,’ he retorted, ‘Charles Stuart lay last night at your house and kissed you at his departure, so that you cannot be but a maid of honour.’ Whereupon she became exceeding wroth and cried, ‘If I thought it was the King, as you say it was, I would think the better of my lips all the days of my life, and so get you out of my house, or I’ll get those who shall kick you out.’ A truly gallant reply which has lived through the mists of nearly three hundred years, a splendid example of the loyalty of the common people.
The Parliamentarians were galloping along the road to Dorchester, but they missed Charles by half a mile, for he had turned off towards Broadwindsor. Here he spent another restless night, since a further detachment of Cromwell’s troops occupied the inn, and one of their doxies gave birth to an infant on the kitchen table. The following day he was fortunate enough to regain Colonel Wyndham’s house and lay hidden at Trent for the best part of another week.
One night during his stay he heard the joy-bells ringing, and saw some bonfires blazing, with excited people dancing round them. On asking the reason for this jubilation he was informed that they were rejoicing at his own death, which had just been reported. ‘Indeed,’ he said with his deliciously sardonic smile. ‘Alas—poor people!’
Another ship was secured at Southampton through the assistance of Colonel Phelipps, but once more the King’s hopes were doomed to disappointment. After all had been arranged the vessel was impressed by the Parliamentarians to carry troops to Jersey.
Colonel Wyndham’s was now no longer considered safe, since the Roundheads were hot upon the King’s trail and searching many houses in the neighbourhood. Among the others, they visited that of Sir Hugh Wyndham, the Colonel’s uncle, and there ‘seized upon a lovely young lady, saying that she was the King disguised in woman’s apparel, nor would they let her go, till by some rude experiments they had discovered her sex’.
In this extremity Charles said good-bye to Juliana and removed with Colonel Phelipps to the house of a Mrs. Hyde near Salisbury. By moving in this direction he was also gaining ground towards another ship which had now been secured by a Colonel Gounter.
Mrs. Hyde’s loyalty got the better of her discretion, for she received the King with such an open demonstration of respect that it was feared the servants would all become aware of his identity. In these circumstances it was thought best that he should appear to leave her house for good next morning, and taking a public farewell of her he spent the day with Phelipps on the slopes of the rolling plain, and among the monoliths at Stonehenge. By night they returned secretly and he spent a further five days under the hospitable roof of Mrs. Hyde.
Then he journeyed to Hambledon in Hampshire, where he lodged with Colonel Counter’s sister, a Mrs. Symons, and her husba
nd returning very merry from a party, misled at first by Charles’s appearance, declared that he thought him ‘some Roundhead rogue’s son’.
The following day the little party arrived at the small seaport of Brighthelmstone, now so well known as Brighton, and pulled up at the ‘George’.
Gounter had employed a loyal merchant named Mansel in the matter of the ship, a coal brig, to carry two Royalists from Shoreham to France for £60 down, but without letting him know the identity of the fugitives, yet Mansel recognised the King immediately.
After dinner, Charles was left alone for a moment in the dining-room of the inn, and was standing before the fire when Mr. Smith, the landlord, entered. As he began to clear the table he started a casual conversation, but he was an ex-guardsman and knew the King’s face well. Suddenly he seized the King’s hand and kissed it, saying, ‘May God bless your Majesty—wheresoever you may go.’
Captain Tattersall had also been ignorant as to who his passengers were to be, but he too recognised Charles’s features, and falling on his knees, vowed to venture all that he possessed to set the King and Wilmot safely on the shores of France.
Thus, after forty-three days and nights, many of which had been passed in cold and hunger, and the whole in imminent risk of capture, the King was safely conveyed out of the power of his enemies. That he escaped was very largely owing to his own wise decision in the first place not to join Leslie, together with his unfailing wit and bravery; but it was even more largely due to the loyalty and devotion of his subjects. If one includes the servants in the many houses where he rested, there must have been close on a hundred persons in the secret of his identity, and to the poorer of these the reward offered for his capture would have meant ease and plenty all their lives long. Yet there is not a single instance of any one of them endeavouring to betray their King.
Gunmen, Gallants and Ghosts Page 10
