CHAPTER V. AFTER WORCESTER FIELD
The morn of the third of September--that date so propitious to Cromwell,so disastrous to Charles--found Crispin the centre of a company ofgentlemen in battle-harness, assembled at The Mitre Inn. For a toast hegave them "The damnation of all crop-ears."
"Sirs," quoth he, "a fair beginning to a fair day. God send the eveningfind us as merry."
It was not to be his good fortune, however, to be in the earlier workof the day. Until afternoon he was kept within the walls of Worcester,chafing to be where hard knocks were being dealt--with Montgomery atPowick Bridge, or with Pittscottie on Bunn's Hill. But he was forced tohold his mood in curb, and wait until Charles and his advisers shouldelect to make the general attack.
It came at last, and with it came the disastrous news that Montgomerywas routed, and Pittscottie in full retreat, whilst Dalzell hadsurrendered, and Keith was taken. Then was it that the main body of theRoyal army formed up at the Sidbury Gate, and Crispin found himself inthe centre, which was commanded by the King in person. In the brilliantcharge that followed there was no more conspicuous figure, no voicerang louder in encouragement to the men. For the first time that dayCromwell's Ironsides gave back before the Royalists, who in that fierce,irresistible charge, swept all before them until they had reachedthe battery on Perry Wood, and driven the Roundheads from ithell-to-leather.
It was a glorious moment, a moment in which the fortunes of the day hungin the balance; the turn of the tide it seemed to them at last.
Crispin was among the first to reach the guns, and with a great shout of"Hurrah for Cavaliers!" he had cut down two gunners that yet lingered.His cry lacked not an echo, and a deafening cheer broke upon theclamorous air as the Royalists found themselves masters of the position.Up the hill on either side pressed the Duke of Hamilton and the Earl ofDerby to support the King. It but remained for Lesley's Scottish horseto follow and complete the rout of the Parliamentarian forces. Had theymoved at that supreme moment who shall say what had been the issue ofWorcester field? But they never stirred, and the Royalists waiting onPerry Wood cursed Lesley for a foul traitor who had sold his King.
With bitterness did they then realize that their great effort was to bebarren, their gallant charge in vain. Unsupported, their position grewfast untenable.
And presently, when Cromwell had gathered his scattered Ironsides, thatgallant host was driven fighting, down the hill and back to the shelterof Worcester. With the Roundheads pressing hotly upon them they gainedat last the Sidbury Gate, but only to find that an overset ammunitionwagon blocked the entrance. In this plight, and without attemptingto move it, they faced about to make a last stand against the Puritanonslaught.
Charles had flung himself from his charger and climbed the obstruction,and in this he was presently followed by others, amongst whom wasCrispin.
In the High Street Galliard came upon the King, mounted on a freshhorse, addressing a Scottish regiment of foot. The soldiers had throwndown their arms and stood sullenly before him, refusing to obey hiscommand to take them up again and help him attempt, even at that latehour, to retrieve the fortunes of the day. Crispin looked on in scornand loathing. His passions awakened at the sight of Lesley's inactionneeded but this last breath to fan it into a very blaze of wrath. Andwhat he said to them touching themselves, their country, and the KirkCommittee that had made sheep of them, was so bitter and contemptuousthat none but men in the most parlous and pitiable of conditions couldhave suffered it.
He was still hurling vituperations at them when Colonel Pride witha troop of Parliamentarian horse--having completely overcome theresistance at the Sidbury Gate--rode into the town. At the news of this,Crispin made a last appeal to the infantry.
"Afoot, you Scottish curs!" he thundered. "Would you rather be cut topieces as you stand? Up, you dogs, and since you know not how to live,die at least without shame!"
But in vain did he rail. In sullen quiet they remained, their weapons onthe ground before them. And then, as Crispin was turning away to see tohis own safety, the King rode up again, and again he sought to revivethe courage that was dead in those Scottish hearts. If they would notstand by him, he cried at last, let them slay him there, sooner thanthat he should be taken captive to perish on the scaffold.
While he was still urging them, Crispin unceremoniously seized hisbridle.
"Will you stand here until you are taken, sire?" he cried. "Leave them,and look to your safety."
Charles turned a wondering eye upon the resolute, battle-grimed face ofthe man that thus addressed him. A faint, sad smile parted his lips.
"You are right, sir," he made answer. "Attend me." And turning about herode down a side street with Galliard following closely in his wake.
With the intention of doffing his armour and changing his apparel, hemade for the house in New Street where he had been residing. As theydrew up before the door, Crispin, chancing to look over his shoulder,rapped out an oath.
"Hasten, sire," he exclaimed, "here is a portion of Colonel's Pride'stroop."
The King looked round, and at sight of the Parliamentarians, "It isended," he muttered despairingly. But already Crispin had sprung fromhis horse.
"Dismount, sire," he roared, and he assisted him so vigorously as toappear to drag him out of the saddle.
"Which way?" demanded Charles, looking helplessly from left to right."Which way?"
But Crispin's quick mind had already shaped a plan. Seizing the royalarm--for who in such straits would deal ceremoniously?--he thrust theKing across the threshold, and, following, closed the door and shot itsonly bolt. But the shout set up by the Puritans announced to them thattheir movement had been detected.
The King turned upon Sir Crispin, and in the half-light of the passagewherein they stood Galliard made out the frown that bent the royalbrows.
"And now?" demanded Charles, a note almost of reproach in his voice.
"And now begone, sire," returned the knight. "Begone ere they come."
"Begone?" echoed Charles, in amazement. "But whither, sir? Whither andhow?"
His last words were almost drowned in the din without, as the Roundheadspulled up before the house.
"By the back, sire," was the impatient answer. "Through door orwindow--as best you can. The back must overlook the Corn-Market; that isyour way. But hasten--in God's name hasten!--ere they bethink them of itand cut off your retreat."
As he spoke a violent blow shook the door.
"Quick, Your Majesty," he implored, in a frenzy.
Charles moved to depart, then paused. "But you, sir? Do you not comewith me?"
Crispin stamped his foot, and turned a face livid with impatience uponhis King. In that moment all distinction of rank lay forgotten.
"I must remain," he answered, speaking quickly. "That crazy door willnot hold for a second once a stout man sets his shoulder to it. Afterthe door they will find me, and for your sake I trust I may prove ofstouter stuff. Fare you well, sire," he ended in a softer tone. "Godguard Your Majesty and send you happier days."
And, bending his knee, Crispin brushed the royal hand with his hot lips.
A shower of blows clattered upon the timbers of the door, and one ofits panels was splintered by a musket-shot. Charles saw it, and with amuttered word that was not caught by Crispin, he obeyed the knight, andfled.
Scarce had he disappeared down that narrow passage, when the door gaveway completely and with a mighty crash fell in. Over the ruins of itsprang a young Puritan-scarce more than a boy--shouting: "The Lord ofHosts!"
But ere he had taken three strides the point of Crispin's tuck-swordgave him pause.
"Halt! You cannot pass this way."
"Back, son of Moab!" was the Roundhead's retort. "Hinder me not, at yourperil."
Behind him, in the doorway, pressed others, who cried out to him to cutdown the Amalekite that stood between them and the young man CharlesStuart. But Crispin laughed grimly for answer, and kept the officer incheck with his point.
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bsp; "Back, or I cut you down," threatened the Roundhead. "I am seeking themalignant Stuart."
"If by those blasphemous words you mean his sacred Majesty, learn thathe is where you will never be--in God's keeping."
"Presumptuous hound," stormed the lad, "giveway!"
Their swords met, and for a moment they ground one against the other;then Crispin's blade darted out, swift as a lightning flash, and tookhis opponent in the throat.
"You would have it so, rash fool," he deprecated.
The boy hurtled back into the arms of those behind, and as he fell hedropped his rapier, which rolled almost to Crispin's feet. The knightstooped, and when again he stood erect, confronting the rebels in thatnarrow passage, he held a sword in either hand.
There was a momentary pause in the onslaught, then to his dismay Crispinsaw the barrel of a musket pointed at him over the shoulder of one ofhis foremost assailants. He set his teeth for what was to come, andbraced himself with the hope that the King might already have made goodhis escape.
The end was at hand, he thought, and a fitting end, since his last hopeof redress was gone-destroyed by that fatal day's defeat.
But of a sudden a cry rang out in a voice wherein rage and anguishwere blended fearfully, and simultaneously the musket barrel was dashedaside.
"Take him alive!" was the cry of that voice. "Take him alive!" It wasColonel Pride himself, who having pushed his way forward, now beheld thebleeding body of the youth Crispin had slain. "Take him alive!" roaredthe old man. Then his voice changing to one of exquisite agony--"My son,my boy," he moaned.
At a glance Crispin caught the situation; but the old Puritan's griefleft him unmoved.
"You must have me alive?" he laughed grimly. "Gadslife, but the honouris like to cost you dear. Well, sirs? Who will be next to court thedistinction of dying by the sword of a gentleman?" he mocked them. "Comeon, you sons of dogs!"
His answer was an angry growl, and straightway two men sprang forward.More than two could not attack him at once by virtue of the narrownessof the passage. Again steel clashed on steel. Crispin--lithe as apanther crouched low, and took one of their swords on each of his.
A disengage and a double he foiled with ease, then by a turn of thewrist he held for a second one opponent's blade; and before the fellowcould disengage again, he had brought his right-hand sword across, andstabbed him in the neck. Simultaneously his other opponent had rushedin and thrust. It was a risk Crispin was forced to take, trusting tohis armour to protect him. It did him the service he hoped from it; thetrooper's sword glanced harmlessly aside, whilst the fellow himself,overbalanced by the fury of his onslaught, staggered helplessly forward.Ere he could recover, Crispin had spitted him from side to side betwixtthe straps that held his back and breast together.
As the two men went down, one after the other, the watching troopers setup a shout of rage, and pressed forward in a body. But the Tavern Knightstood his ground, and his points danced dangerously before the eyes ofthe two foremost. Alarmed, they shouted to those behind to givethem room to handle their swords; but too late. Crispin had seen theadvantage, and taken it. Twice he had thrust, and another two sankbleeding to the ground.
At that there came a pause, and somewhere in the street a knot of themexpostulated with Colonel Pride, and begged to be allowed to pick offthat murderous malignant with their pistols. But the grief-strickenfather was obdurate. He would have the Amalekite alive that he mightcause him to die a hundred deaths in one.
And so two more were sent in to try conclusions with the indomitableGalliard. They went to work more warily. He on the left parriedCrispin's stroke, then knocking up the knight's blade, he rushed in andseized his wrist, shouting to those behind to follow up. But even ashe did so, Crispin sent back his other antagonist, howling and writhingwith the pain of a transfixed sword-arm, and turned his full attentionupon the foe that clung to him. Not a second did he waste in thought. Tohave done so would have been fatal. Instinctively he knew that whilsthe shortened his blade, others would rush in; so, turning his wrist, hecaught the man a crushing blow full in the face with the pommel of hisdisengaged sword.
Fulminated by that terrific stroke, the man reeled back into the arms ofanother who advanced.
Again there fell a pause. Then silently a Roundhead charged Sir Crispinwith a pike. He leapt nimbly aside, and the murderous lunge shot pasthim; as he did so he dropped his left-hand sword and caught at thehalberd. Exerting his whole strength in a mighty pull, he broughtthe fellow that wielded it toppling forward, and received him on hisoutstretched blade.
Covered with blood--the blood of others--Crispin stood before them now.He was breathing hard and sweating at every pore, but still grim anddefiant. His strength, he realized, was ebbing fast. Yet he shookhimself, and asked them with a gibing laugh did they not think that theyhad better shoot him.
The Roundheads paused again. The fight had lasted but a few moments,and already five of them were stretched upon the ground, and a sixthdisabled. There was something in the Tavern Knight's attitude andterrific, blood-bespattered appearance that deterred them. From outof his powder-blackened face his eyes flashed fiercely, and a mockingdiabolical smile played round the corners of his mouth. What mannerof man, they asked themselves, was this who could laugh in such anextremity? Superstition quickened their alarm as they gazed uponhis undaunted front, and told themselves this was no man they foughtagainst, but the foul fiend himself.
"Well, sirs," he mocked them presently. "How long am I to await yourpleasure?"
They snarled for answer, yet hung back until Colonel Pride's voiceshook them into action. In a body they charged him now, so suddenly andviolently that he was forced to give way. Cunningly did he ply his swordbefore them, but ineffectually. They had adopted fresh tactics, andengaging his blade they acted cautiously and defensively, advancingsteadily, and compelling him to fall back.
Sir Crispin guessed their scheme at last, and vainly did he try to holdhis ground; his retreat slackened perhaps, but it was still a retreat,and their defensive action gave him no opening. Vainly, yet by everytrick of fence he was master of, did he seek to lure the two foremostinto attacking him; stolidly they pursued the adopted plan, and steadilythey impelled him backward.
At last he reached the staircase, and he realized that did he allowhimself to go farther he was lost irretrievably. Yet farther was hedriven; despite the strenuous efforts he put forth, until on his rightthere was room for a man to slip on to the stairs and take him in theflank. Twice one of his opponents essayed it, and twice did Galliard'sdeadly point repel him. But at the third attempt the man got through,another stepped into his place in front, and thus from two, Crispin'simmediate assailants became increased to three.
He realized that the end was at hand, and wildly did he lay about him,but to no purpose. And presently, he who had gained the stairs leapedsuddenly upon him sideways, and clung to his swordarm. Before he couldmake a move to shake himself free, the two that faced him had caught athis other arm.
Like one possessed he struggled then, for the sheer lust of striving;but they that held him gripped effectively.
Thrice they bore him struggling to the ground, and thrice he rose againand sought to shake them from him as a bull shakes off a pack of dogs.But they held fast, and again they forced him down; others sprang totheir aid, and the Tavern Knight could rise no more.
"Disarm the dog!" cried Pride. "Disarm and truss him hand and foot."
"Sirs, you need not," he answered, gasping. "I yield me. Take my sword.I'll do your bidding."
The fight was fought and lost, but it had been a great Homeric struggle,and he rejoiced almost that upon so worthy a scene of his life was thecurtain to fall, and again to hope that, thanks to the stand he hadmade, the King should have succeeded in effecting his escape.
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