“Hold!” Nehemiah exclaimed. “I will not shut mine ears to the voice of a Minister of the Word, and since thou desirest peace, peace there shall be. Yet ere I suffer this dangerous malignant to pass, I must know his errand. He is placed under restraint by the Council, and may not go beyond a limit of five miles.”
“You hear what the man in authority saith,” Micklegift cried, addressing the colonel. “Satisfy him, I pray you.”
“My errand is apparent,” the old Cavalier rejoined, chafing at the interruption. “I am not as yet a prisoner in my own house, and am about to enjoy the pastime of hawking upon yonder downs.”
“So thou sayest,” Nehemiah rejoined; “but I have been too often deluded by those of thy dissembling party to trust thee without some pledge of thy sincerity.”
“Ha! dost dare to doubt me, fellow?” the colonel cried.
“Hinder him not,” Micklegift interposed. “I will be his surety.”
“Thou!” Nehemiah exclaimed, in astonishment, while the colonel himself looked equally surprised.
“Even I, one of the elect,” the minister replied. “Let him pass freely. These worthy persons,” he added, in a lower tone to the colonel, glancing at the same time at Dulcia, “tarry with me till to-morrow, and much vexation and trouble may be spared thee by discreet behaviour towards them.”
To this speech the colonel vouchsafed no reply, but rode slowly past Nehemiah and the emissary from Goldsmiths’ Hall, who stood beside him, followed by the elder Saxby with the hawks and spaniels.
As Dulcia went by, the Independent minister drew near her, and regarding her fixedly, said in a low tone, “I shall expect thy answer to-morrow, damsel.”
CHAPTER III.
The Tartaret And The Heron
AFTER this somewhat inauspicious commencement of his ride, Colonel Maunsel, with Dulcia and Eustace Saxby, turned off on the right, and mounting a steep road cut in the chalk, which skirted the garden-wall, soon gained the charming down at the rear of the mansion.
The day was delightful. A pleasant breeze, fresh but not too strong, and redolent of the sea, came from the south-west. Fleecy clouds swept rapidly overhead, their shadows flitting across the downs in the direction which the party were about to take. So invigorating was the breeze — so beautiful the prospect — so calm and gentle the aspect of all nature — that the colonel, though worn-out by long watching, fatigue of body, and great mental anxiety — exasperated, moreover, by the insults he had recently endured — soon experienced the kindly influence of the scene, felt his chest dilate, and his spirits revive.
At no point, as we have elsewhere remarked, are the downs more beautiful than here. Our old Cavalier had a great love for the eminence on which he now found himself. In moments of impatience he talked of exiling himself from the rebellious land of his birth, but he would have been miserable if he had carried his threat into execution. His severe rheumatic attacks having confined him of late altogether to the house and garden, summer had gone by, and he had not once visited his favourite downs. It was therefore, with redoubled delight that he found himself, after so long an absence, once more upon their breezy heights. He seemed as if he would never tire with gazing at the prospect around him. Familiar as it was, if he had looked upon it for the first time it could not have charmed him more.
Crossing the brow of the hill, the party reached the brim of a steep escarpment dipping into a beautifully hollowed combe; and here the colonel came to a momentary halt. The sides of this hollow, smooth as if scooped out by art, were covered with a carpet of the richest turf. Here and there, a little rounded prominence, or gentle depression, heightened their charm, as a mole or a dimple may lend piquancy to the cheek of beauty. A delightful air of solitude reigned over this fairy dell, which well deserves its present designation of the Happy Valley. On the right of the combe, near a circular excavation filled with water for sheep, grew a grove of trees of considerable size, with a thicket beyond them. The sides of the down, which hemmed in the valley on the opposite side, were by no means so steep as those of the escarpment, and had a warm brown tint, being clothed with gorse and heather. Through the midst of the combe wound a road leading from Rottingdean to Lewes, and looking over the shoulder of the hill on the right, could be discerned the old church and clustered houses of the former place.
While contemplating this beautiful combe, the colonel fell into a reverie, which Dulcia did not care to disturb, and Eustace Saxby remained at a little distance behind them. The silence, therefore, was unbroken, until a blithe voice was heard singing:
‘In my conceit, no pleasure like to hawking there can be:
The tongue it lures, the legs they leap, the eye beholds the glee;
No idle thought can harbour well within the falconer’s brain,
or though his sports right pleasant be, yet are they mixed with pain.
He lures, he leaps, he calls, he cries, he joys, he waxeth sad,
And frames his mood, according as his hawk doth ill or bad.”
“Ah! art there, Ninian?” the colonel exclaimed, as, recognizing the voice of the singer, he looked back and perceived the young falconer descending the slope towards them. “I ought to chide thee for disobeying orders. But i’ faith! I am not sorry thou hast come after us.”
Ninian, who had disencumbered himself of his cross-bow, and brought a hawking- pole with him instead, laughed cheerily, and went on with his song:
“At cockpit some their pleasures place to wager health away,
Where falconers only force the fields to hear the spaniels bay.
What greater glee can man desire, than by his cunning skill,
So to reclaim a haggard hawk, as she the fowl shall kill;
To make and man her in such sort, as tossing out a train,
Or but the lure, when she’s at large, to whoop her back again?”
“Well sung, i’ faith, lad!” exclaimed the colonel, as Ninian drew near him. “There is good sense in thy ballad.”
“It is written by old Geordie Turbervile,” Ninian replied. “There is more of it, if your honour and Mistress Dulcia have patience to listen.” And he struck up again:
“When hawks are hurt and bruis’d by rash encounter in the skies,
What better skill than for their harms a powder to devise,
To dry the blood within the bulk, and make the mummy so
As no physician greater art on patients can bestow?
To cut her hoods, to shape her jess, her tyrets, and her line,
With bells and bewets, varvels eke, to make the falcon fine,
Believe me is no common skill, nor every day devise,
But meet for civil, courtly men that are reputed wise.”
“A good song, and well trolled,” cried the colonel. “But let us set forward.”
Taking their way over several gentle undulations, covered with the softest sward, and still keeping on the uplands, the party, ere long, approached a large barn, in front of which was a stubble-field, and here, as a covey of partridges was pretty sure, to be found the spaniels were uncoupled, and set free by Niniang while the colonel took the merlin from the elder Saxby, and began to unstrike her hood.
After ranging for a while within the new-shorn field, bounding from ridge to ridge, and leaving scarce an inch of ground untried, the dogs became suddenly motionless, and Eustace Saxby, who, with his son, had followed them cautiously, now gave a sign to his master, by raising his hand, that the partridges were found.
The colonel then advanced, and when within a short distance of the falconers, unhooded the merlin, and cast her from his fist, crying out, “Hey, gar! gar!” No sooner was the merlin upon the wing, than, urged by Eustace, the spaniels rushed in and sprung the partridges. After them darted the hawk, while the terrified birds, instantly perceiving their danger, strove to escape by rapid flight — vainly strove, as it turned out, for with marvellous quickness two of their number were stricken to the ground by the merlin, and almost as quickly retrieved by the spaniels
, who, guided and incited by the cries of the falconers, followed the flight of the hawk.
At this moment, and while the partridges, scattered in their terror, were still upon the wing, the Barbary falcon, which had been committed to Dulcia, was unhooded by her and cast off, and with inconceivable swiftness joined her companion in the chase. All was now animation and excitement, the falconers shouting and encouraging dogs and hawks, and loudly applauding every successful stroke of the latter, the colonel riding after them shouting likewise, and closely attended by Dulcia.
Being very fleet of wing and keen of beak, the tartaret did terrible execution. Such of the scared and bewildered partridges as escaped from the merlin fell beneath his gripping talons, and almost in as brief space as we have taken to recount the occurrence, was the whole covey struck to the ground, and retrieved by the spaniels. The hawks were then lured back by the falconers, and bountifully rewarded for their pains by gorges of the prey — the elder Saxby making for them what is called the Italian soppa. The partridges having been counted, and tied together by Ninian, were given by him to a shepherd lad, who had joined them, to convey to the Grange.
So excited had Colonel Maunsel been by the pastime, that for the moment he quite forgot his troubles, and it was with improved spirits that he once more set forward on his way; shaping his course in a north-easterly direction over the downs, chatting pleasantly with Dulcia as he went, and now and then addressing a word to the falconers, who kept close beside him. He resisted, however, all their attempts to induce him to flee the hawks again; declining to enter a holt, wherein Ninian told him there was a nye of pheasants; and paying no attention to Eustace, when the latter pointed out a reedy pond in a hollow, where he would be sure to find wild-fowl — a spring of teals, or a covert of coots. Neither would he permit a cast of the merlin at what the young falconer styled a “congregation” of starlings.
Proceeding in this way at an easy pace — now descending into a broad valley — now mounting another heather-clad down — anon passing over an elevated platform covered with fine green turf, on which he encountered a large square encampment, the colonel reached the summit of Kingston Hill, where a magnificent view burst upon him. Almost at his feet, as it seemed — though, in reality, three or four miles off — lay the ancient and picturesque town of Lewes.
A very striking object is Lewes, as viewed from this lofty eminence; but, striking as it is, it constitutes only a small portion of the vast and extraordinary picture presented to the looker-on — a picture so vast, indeed, that it cannot be taken in at a glance, but must be regarded from the right, and from the left. Surrounded by an amphitheatre of lofty hills, and planted upon a protruded town, rising amid the Levels, the old town occupies a singularly commanding position. In the midst of it, reared upon a high mound, so as to dominate the surrounding structures, stands its proud Norman castle, with its grey gateway, ivied towers, and keep. Many churches and venerable edifices are there in the quaint old town — many large gardens and fine trees — and most noticeable of all, the picturesque ruins of its reverend priory.
Beneath Kingston Hill lie the broad Lewes Levels, a large alluvial plain, through which the narrow and meandering Ouse flows towards the sea, to find an embouchure at Newhaven. At the southern extremity of the valley is Newhaven itself, with the bold promontory called the Castle Hill overlooking its harbour. Opposite, on the eastern side of the wide plain, is the majestic Mount Caburn, the southern point of the Cliffe range of hills, Firle Beacon, and Malling Hill, with its sheer white cliff, at the back of Lewes. Towards the north-east the eye ranges over a vast woody tract, comprising a great portion of the Weald of Sussex, but known in the days of Roman subjugation as the Anderida Sylva, in the days of the Saxons as the Andredswald, and during the Heptarchy as the Royal Chase. Inward, the view extends as far as Crow-borough and the Reigate Hills — a range of nigh forty miles. To the west of Lewes, and commanding the Weald, is the monarch of the South Downs, Mount Harry, so designated after the famous battle fought upon its sides wherein Harry the Third was worsted by Simon de Montfort and the Barons.
While the colonel gazed delightedly upon this immense panorama, Ninian, whose quick eye was sweeping the horizon in search of some bird upon which to exercise the prowess of the Barbary falcon, perceived a heron, probably from the heronry in Angmering Park, sailing slowly towards them, in the direction of the marshy flats near Newhaven, and he instantly called his master’s attention to the stately bird. The old Cavalier hesitated for a moment, thinking the tartaret too small to make a flight at a heron, but being assured on this score by Eustace, he assented. When the heron, who came slowly on, with wide wings expanded, and long neck and bill stretched out, had drawn sufficiently near, as the colonel judged, he took off the tartaret’s hood, and dismissed her, shouting out, as before, “Hey, gar! gar!” while the falconers also encouraged her by their cries.
Startled by these noises, and at the same moment perceiving her enemy, the heron instantly quickened her flight. Swift as an arrow from a bow, the brave little tartaret climbed towards her quarry. It was a fine sight to watch her mount, and strive to overtop the heron, who now, fully comprehending her danger, soared upwards likewise, till well-nigh lost to view.
Both birds now looked like specks as their movements were watched by the group below. Ninian, who had the quickest and best eye of the party, and who had never lost sight of the birds, told them at last, with great exultation, that the tartaret had made her mountée and got above the heron. On hearing this, the colonel uttered an exclamation of delight, as did the elder Saxby. Hoping to avoid the hawk’s fatal stoop, the heron now descended as rapidly as she had previously soared aloft — the tartaret coming after her with equal quickness.
The crisis of the struggle was now at hand, as the watchers well knew, and they looked on with increased anxiety. All at once the heron turned over on her back, with her long, sharp beak pointed upwards, like a lance, to impale her foe.
At this moment the tartaret made her stoop, and dropped like a stone upon her quarry, seizing her and binding her. Both birds then fell together, and reached the ground at the foot of the precipitous descent, down which Ninian ran with great swiftness, hoping to be in time to rescue the hawk. But ere he got up all was over with the brave little tartaret. The heron’s bill had transfixed her when she made her stoop, and the gallant bird was dead ere touching the ground.
The hawk and her quarry were lying together. The heron was still alive, but grievously wounded, and Ninian at once despatched her.
CHAPTER IV.
Captain Stelfax
“ALACK! alack! my pretty tartaret, thou art beyond the aid of mummy-powder,” Ninian exclaimed, as having liberated the yet warm body of the falcon from the cruel bill of its adversary, he was smoothing the blood-stained mails on its breast. “A lusty, roystering hawk thou wert, and sore grieved am I to lose thee!”
He might have gone on bemoaning his favourite for some while longer, had not the trampling of horses suddenly roused him. Looking in the direction whence the sound proceeded, he perceived a small body of troopers advancing towards him at a rapid trot along the road leading from the adjacent village of Kingston to Iford and Rodmill. He knew that these men must belong to the Parliamentary army, for since the rout at Worcester not a dozen Royalist soldiers, horse or foot, could have been got together. The little band numbered twenty men, and with them was an officer. Having heard from his father that a detachment of Cromwell’s Ironsides had just arrived at Lewes, Ninian rightly divined that these men must belong to that invincible troop. Their leader, in fact, was no other than the dreaded Captain Stelfax.
Not liking to hurry off, the young falconer judged it best to remain where he was until the troop should pass by. They were now within bow-shot of him, and he could discern that they were all powerful-looking men, well-mounted, well- accoutred, and apparently well-deserving the hardy name they had acquired. Their doublets and saddle-cloths were of scarlet, the original bright hue of which
had suffered from exposure to weather, and service in the field; but their steel breastplates, tassets, and head-pieces, were highly polished, and gleamed brightly in the sunshine. Each trooper had bandoleers over his shoulder, with powder-flask and bullet-bag attached to the broad leathern belt; and bore a long sword at his side, and a carabine slung from his shoulder.
There was no marked distinction between the leader of the troop and those under his command, except that the helmet and corslet of the latter were filigrained, and in lieu of bandoleers he had a crimson sash fringed with gold across his shoulder. At his side he carried a long Toledo sword. Captain Stelfax was a man of middle size, heavily built, square set, and very muscular, and endowed with such prodigious strength of arm, that, like a knight of old, he could cleave a foeman to the chine. Captain Stelfax was not thought to be so rigorous an ascetic as the elders of his troop might have desired, but being a thoroughly brave soldier, and of tried fidelity to the cause, his failings were regarded with a lenient eye. Though ferocious in the field, and merciless, it was said, in his treatment of those who came within his grasp, his expression, on the whole, was good-humoured, and his features handsome, though rather coarse. His hair was cropped short, but he wore a bushy red beard, the glowing hue of which put to shame the tarnished splendour of his scarlet doublet. A weighty man, like this captain of Ironsides, required a strong horse to carry him, and he rode a great sorrel charger, who seemed quite equal to his burden.
Captain Stelfax, it presently appeared, had descried the party on Kingston Hill, and, curious to know who they were, on coming near Ninian, halted his men, and shouted to the young falconer to come to him. Ninian did not dare to disobey, and though he would much rather have taken to his heels, he affected great alacrity in complying with the summons. Captain Stelfax put a few interrogatories to him in a brief authoritative tone, and appeared satisfied with the replies he received; but as soon as he ascertained that it was Colonel Maunsel who was on the heights, he turned to one of the troopers nearest him, whom he addressed as Sergeant Hadadezer Delves, and, pointing out the party stationed on the hill, bade him bring them down to him.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 562
