“My boy — my dear boy! how I joy to see thee back again!” the old colonel exclaimed, embracing him, and bending over him with effusion. “I had well-nigh given thee up for lost.”
“You must thank John Habergeon for bringing me to you, father,” Clavering replied. “Without him, you would never have beheld me more. But why come not Dulcia and her honoured father nigh me? I long to greet them, but am too much exhausted to rise.”
Thus summoned, the young maiden was instantly by his side. Clavering extended his uninjured arm towards her, feebly pressing her hand, and fixing a tender look upon her, while she remained gazing upon him with tearful eyes. The good divine next came in for his share of the wounded man’s notice.
“I shall die content now that I have seen you all once more,” Clavering cried, in a feeble voice, and half closing his eyes, as he sank back in the chair.
“Tut! tut! talk not of dying!” Colonel Maunsel exclaimed. “I tell thee thou shalt live — live and grow hearty again, and shalt carry havoc amongst those canting Roundheads and rebels. I was worse hurt at Naseby than thou art, and should speedily have recovered from my wounds, had I been properly tended, and not lodged in that pestilent castle of Chester, where the prison fever took me and brought me to the gates of death, leaving me ever afterward stiff of joint and lame of limb, so that I can neither mount horse nor bear sword. But thou shalt get well again in less than a month, I warrant thee, Clavering, and be ready once more to fight the king’s enemies. Thou hast youth and a sound constitution to back thee, and need’st fear nothing.”
“He looks very faint!” Dulcia exclaimed, anxiously. “A cup of wine, methinks, would do him good.”
“Well thought of, girl,” the colonel cried. “A cup of wine instantly.”
“Captain Clavering is suffering more from weakness and want of nourishment than from his wounds,” John Habergeon said, filling a goblet with sack, and handing it to Dulcia. “Give it to him, fair mistress,” he continued, with a gruff kind of gallantry. “The cup will taste better from your hands than mine;” adding, in a tone calculated only for her ear, “he hath talked of scarce any one else save you since he got his wounds.”
Blushing deeply, but taking no notice of this embarrassing whisper, Dulcia gave the goblet to Clavering, who looked at her fixedly as he raised it to his lips.
Just then, the groom of the kitchen, Giles Moppett, accompanied by Martin Geere and Patty Whinchat, entered the hall, bringing materials for a plentiful repast, which they proceeded to place upon the table with all possible expedition. Fortunately the larder happened to be well stocked. The viands were chiefly of a substantial character — so much the better, John Habergeon thought, as he looked on, almost with a wolfish eye, while the dishes were being set upon the board. There was a mountainous roast round of beef, a couple of boiled pullets, little the worse for their previous appearance at the board, a dish of larks, a huge pigeon-pie, and, better than all, the remains of a mangificent roast bustard — bustards were then to be met with on the South Downs. As soon as the arrangements for this impromptu supper were completed, Clavering, upon whom the generous liquor he had swallowed had produced a very beneficial effect, was borne to the table by his father’s directions, without moving him from the chair wherein he sat. Giles Moppett, who acted as carver, then inquired what his young master would be pleased to take; but Clavering refused to touch anything till John Habergeon had been served, and bade Moppett fill a plate with roast beef for the old trooper. John was far too hungry to be bashful, so he sat down, as he was enjoined to do, and speedily cleared his plate, which was promptly replenished by Moppett. The old trooper was no indifferent trencherman in a general way; but just now he seemed to possess an inexhaustible appetite, eating like one half famished. After doing prodigious execution upon the round of beef, he devoured a leg and a wing of the bustard — no trifling feat in itself — only pausing occasionally in his task to empty a flagon of nut-brown ale, poured out for him by the attentive Martin Geere. Finally, he attacked the pigeon-pie, and soon made a great hole in it. His prowess was watched with infinite satisfaction by Colonel Maunsel, who encouraged him to go on, repeatedly ordering Giles Moppett to fill his plate anew. At first, Clavering ate sparingly and slowly, but as he gained strength his appetite increased, and if he could have used both hands, he might, perchance, have rivalled John Habergeon’s wondrous performances, for he seemed to have fasted as long as the old trooper. But notwithstanding his insatiable hunger, the young man took good care to call in Dulcia’s aid to cut up his meat for him, which he was certainly entitled to do, seeing that he could not perform the task for himself. A pause, however, in this terrible masticating process having at length arrived, on Clavering’s side, at least — for John, it seemed, would never cease — Colonel Maunsel thought he might venture to ask for some particulars of his son’s escape after the battle. The first inquiries however, of the loyal old gentleman were, whether Clavering knew aught of the king?
“I trust his Majesty has escaped his enemies, father,” the young man replied; “but I have heard nothing concerning him since I was separated from him, in the manner I will proceed to recount to you. After the rout on that unlucky day, when all went against us, and the king was compelled to retire, I had the honour of forming part of the small escort that attended him, having previously assisted, with my Lord Cleveland and Colonel Wogan, in covering his retreat from the city. We rode off at nightfall in the direction of Stourbridge, his Majesty having decided upon taking refuge at Boscobel House, whither Mr. Charles Giffard, than whom there breathes not a more loyal gentleman, had undertaken to conduct him.”
“I know Charles Giffard well,” Colonel Maunsel remarked, “and can avouch, from my personal knowledge, that he is as loyal as thou hast described him. I also know Boscobel, and White Ladies, another house belonging to the Giffards, and in either place his Majesty would find a secure retreat. The king could not be in better hands than those of loyal Charles Giffard. But go on, my son; how far didst accompany his Majesty?”
“Within a mile of Stourbridge,” Clavering replied; “when we were attacked by a troop of the enemy’s horse, and the king was exposed to much peril, running great risk of capture.”
“Capture! ‘Sdeath! you would none of you have suffered those vile knaves to lay hands on his Majesty’s sacred person!” the old colonel exclaimed, his eye blazing fiercely, and his limbs trembling with passion. “Oh! that I had been there, with an arm as strong as that which I boasted before Naseby! What didst thou do, boy?”
“That which you would have done yourself, sir,” Clavering rejoined. “I used your sword to some purpose against the crop-eared curs, and made them feel the edge of the weapon. Finding the king beset by the captain of the troop and three or four of his men, who had recognized his Majesty, and were shouting out ‘that the Lord of Hosts had delivered Abijam, the son of Rehoboam, into their hands,’ and were menacing him with death if he did not yield himself up to them, I fired my pistol at the head of their leader, and throwing myself upon the others, assailed them so furiously, that the king was able to extricate himself from them and get clear off.”
“What! thou hast been the happy instrument of saving his Majesty’s life — thou, my darling son?” the old Cavalier exclaimed, in tones half broken by the deep emotion which he vainly endeavoured to repress. “By Saint George! thou hast done well, Clavering — thou hast done well. And if thou hadst perished in the act, thou wouldst have died the death which I myself should have most coveted — a death worthy of one of our loyal house.”
“But, Heaven be praised, my brave young friend is spared to us!” Mr. Beard ejaculated. “May he be preserved to be a prop to your declining years, sir,” he added to the colonel.
“May he be preserved to aid in King Charles’ restoration, that is all I pray for!” the old Cavalier exclaimed.
“I cry ‘Amen’ to that prayer, father,” the young man rejoined, fervently.
Hitherto Dulcia had abstained from
speech, though her cheek had glowed during Clavering’s narration. She now ventured to remark:
“But you have more to tell us of that desperate encounter, have you not? It was there that you received your hurts?”
“You are right, Dulcia,” Clavering replied. “His Majesty, whom Heaven preserve! had got off as I have informed you, but I myself was surrounded, and had a sharp conflict with the base knaves, from whom I neither expected to receive quarter, nor would have deigned to accept it, and who, moreover, as you may guess, were mightily enraged at the king’s escape. Ere long my right arm was disabled by the blow of a pike, and being thus at the mercy of the murtherous rascals, I should have been despatched outright, if it had not been for John Habergeon—”
“Say not a word about me, captain, I beseech you,” the old trooper interrupted, looking up with his mouth full of pigeon-pie.
“I marvelled where John could have been all this while,” the colonel observed. “I thought he could not have been far off.”
“John was by my side, sir,” Clavering rejoined. “By my side, did I say? He was in front — at the rear — on the right — at the left — everywhere warding off blows aimed at me, and doing terrible execution upon the rebels. But even John could not save me from being thrown from my steed, and trampled under foot by the Roundhead troopers, who tried to dash out my brains with their horses’ heels. The stoutness of my casque saved me from their malice, and my breastplate protected me from all other harm except some trifling bruises—”
“Call you hurts such as yours trifling, my good young friend?” the pastor cried. “You must needs have a frame of iron to bear such injuries, and speak lightly of them.”
“‘Fore Heaven! Clavering is as tough as his father,” the old colonel remarked, smiling complacently; “and can bear much knocking about. There is nothing like a close headpiece with great cheeks, and a stout corslet and cuissarts, if you have the ill luck to be hurled on the ground and ridden over. Your well- tempered breastplate stood you in good stead on this occasion, boy.”
“It was much dinted, I promise you, father,” Clavering replied. “Howbeit, I escaped with life, though those caitiff troopers declared they would send me to perdition.”
“Heaven open their own eyes and save them from the pit!” the clergyman ejaculated.
“Nay, such spawn of Satan deserve not your intercession for them, reverend sir,” the old Cavalier exclaimed, impetuously. “I would despatch such devil’s servants to their master without an instant’s scruple. Oh! John, my worthy friend,” he added to the old trooper, who was still quietly pursuing his meal, as if in no wise concerned in Clavering’s relation, “I estimated thee aright. I knew thou wouldst be serviceable to my son.”
“I would not have stirred a foot for those cursed Roundhead curs, your honour,” John Habergeon replied; “but I wanted to draw them from Captain Clavering as the sole means of saving his life, so I made pretence of flight, and the rascals galloped after me. They shot my horse, but I got off scathless.”
“Thou art a brave fellow, John,” the colonel said
“Brave, indeed! and trusty as brave!” Clavering cried. “He rescued me from certain destruction. I was unable to stir from the spot where I fell, and if those butcherly Roundheads had returned, or others of their side had come up and found me lying there and still breathing, they would infallibly have knocked out my brains.”
“Now to look at dear, good John Habergeon, no one would guess what a warm heart he possesses,” Dulcia exclaimed. “I ever liked him; but I knew not his true worth till now.”
“Men must not be judged by their exterior, child,” Mr. Beard said. “The sweetest kernel hath sometimes the roughest shell.”
“Just as the best blade may be found in an ill scabbard,” the colonel said. “John is somewhat harsh of feature, it must be owned, but he hath a right honest look. You would never mistake him for a Puritan.”
“I trow not, your honour, if a real Puritan were nigh,” the old trooper replied, with a grin. “But enough, methinks, has been said about me.”
“Not half enough,” Clavering rejoined. “I have not told you a tithe of what John did for me, father. When you know all, you will comprehend how much gratitude I owe him. He bore me in his arms from the scene of strife to a place of safety, where he set my broken arm, and put splints, which he himself quickly prepared as well as any surgeon could have done, over the fracture, bound up the limb, dressed my bruises, and, this done, he again carried me to a barn, where we passed the night, John watching by me all the while. After some hours’ rest I was able to move, and we set out before daybreak across the country, as near as we could conjecture in the direction of Stratford. We made but slow progress, for I was very stiff and weak; but John lent me all the aid he could, cheering me on, and talking to me of home and of those I loved, when I was half inclined to lie down in despair. As the day advanced, he procured me some milk and bread, without which I could no longer have gone on, for I had tasted nothing since the previous morn — the morn, you will remember, of the fatal battle. Having partaken of this food, I was enabled to continue my journey, and ere night we had found shelter in a thicket between Stratford and Long Marston, when John left me for a while to procure fresh provisions for our support. The faithful fellow came back, bringing with him meat and a bottle of stout ale; but though half famished, he would touch nothing himself till I had eaten and drunk. But I must be brief, for this talking is too much for me. During the whole of our toilsome journey hither, exposed as we have been to constant hazard from the Republican troops which are scouring the country in every direction, dreading almost to show our faces lest we should be set upon by some Roundhead churls, resting now in a wood, now beneath a haystack, but never under a roof, obtaining food with difficulty, and the little we got of the coarsest kind — during all these difficulties and dangers, my trusty companion, who might easily have provided for his own safety, kept ever by my side, and tended me, cheered me, watched over me — nay, actually in two instances saved me from capture with his good right hand, for I could do nothing in my own defence — and finally succeeded in bringing me home in safety.”
“Blessings upon him for his noble conduct!” the clergyman exclaimed.
“Ay, blessings upon him!” reiterated both the colonel and Dulcia.
“Well, it is all right now, since I am back again at the dear old house,” Clavering continued. “As to my wounds, I heed them not. They will soon heal. But the thought of how I got them will last during the rest of my life.”
“Thou art a true Maunsel, every inch of thee, Clavering,” his father cried, in approval. “What signifies a limb lost, or a drop of blood the less in one’s veins, if we have done good service to the royal cause. And thou hast saved the king’s life. Think of that — think of that, Clavering Maunsel.”
“I do think of it,” the young Cavalier replied.
“I crave your honour’s leave to propose a toast,” John Habergeon cried, rising.
“Thou hast my full licence to do so,” Colonel Maunsel rejoined. “Fill thine own glass from that flask of Malvoisie to the brim, and all of us will follow thine example. Even fair Mistress Dulcia will not refuse thy pledge.”
“Nay, that I will not, in good sooth, colonel,” Dulcia cried.
“You will all do me reason, I am sure, when you hear my toast,” John said. “A health to King Charles, and may God preserve him from his enemies!”
All arose; the colonel unassisted, for his new-found activity had not yet deserted him; and Clavering contrived to get up from his chair. The glasses being filled, the toast was drunk by the whole company, including even Dulcia, who raised the goblet to her lips. Colonel Maunsel repeated the words pronounced by the loyal old trooper with great fervour and solemnity; adding, “I will put a rider to thy toast, John, and drink to his Majesty’s speedy restoration.”
While the party was thus occupied, none of them were aware that their proceedings were watched from the bay-window on th
e left by a sallow-faced, sinister-looking personage, habited in a Geneva cloak and bands, and wearing a tall steeple-crowned hat on his head. We have said that this spy was unobserved by all the party; but his presence did not pass unnoticed by the quick eyes of Patty Whinchat, who entered the hall just as the treasonable toast (for such it would sound in the ears of a Republican) had been drunk.
“Mercy on us!” Patty screamed. “There’s a man at the window.”
“What say’st thou, wench? A man at the window!” Colonel Maunsel cried. “Go and see, John. I can discern no one.”
The old trooper did not require bidding twice, but rushed to the bay-window indicated by Patty. However, he could perceive nothing to justify the girl’s alarm, and told the colonel as much.
“What manner of man didst fancy thou sawest, wench?” the colonel cried.
“It was no fancy, your honour; I’m sure I saw him,” Patty rejoined. “I saw his hatchet-face, and his cat’s-eyes, and his tall, sugar-loaf hat, and his Geneva cloak and bands—”
“Oons! that should be Increase Micklegift, from thy description, wench,” the colonel interrupted.
“It was Increase Micklegift whom I beheld,” Patty replied. “I’ll swear to his ugly nose.”
“No occasion for swearing, Patty,” the clergyman remarked. “We will believe your simple affirmation.”
“Go and send some one forth, Moppett,” the colonel said to the groom of the kitchen, “to ascertain whether this pestilent rascal be indeed within the garden, or elsewhere lurking about the premises.”
“I’ll go myself,” John Habergeon rejoined; “and if I catch him, I’ll treat him as I would a hen-roost plunderer.”
“Nay, harm him not,” the clergyman cried; “but admonish him.”
“Ay, ay, I’ll admonish him, your reverence,” John Habergeon replied, “ — with a cudgel.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 557
