Just as the search was completed, Colonel Maunsel was seen tottering down the principal staircase, which communicated with the entrance-hall. He was supported by old Martin Geere, and appeared greatly debilitated. But he was not allowed to descend to the hall. At a sign from Delves, two troopers planted themselves at the foot of the staircase, crossing their carabines, as an intimation to the old Cavalier that he could not pass. Thereupon, he stopped midway in the staircase, and gazed at the group below.
“Who have you there?” he exclaimed. “It is not — it cannot be the king! Some one cried out just now that his Majesty was taken, but I will not believe the evil tidings.”
“Fear nothing, colonel,” cried Lord Wilmot. “Our gracious monarch will never be captured by these men. He is safe from their pursuit.”
“Heaven be praised!” the old Cavalier fervently ejaculated. “I cannot discern the features of him who speaks to me, but the voice is the voice of a friend.”
“Inveterate malignant as thou art, there is no reason why thou shouldst remain in ignorance of the rank and title of the prisoner we have made,” Delves rejoined, “and I will therefore declare them unto thee. Not many minutes since, two men rode up to thy gates with such blind precipitation, that they perceived not, till too late, that the house was in the possession of the soldiers of the Commonwealth. One of these insensate persons was speedily captured, and proved to be the Lord Wilmot, the chosen friend of thy sovereign. The other effected a retreat, but our captain hath started in pursuit of him, and will not relinquish the chase till the prey be secured. Notwithstanding his lordship’s denial, I leave thee to conjecture who was likely to have been his companion.”
“For Colonel Maunsel’s satisfaction, and not for thine, fellow,” cried Lord Wilmot, “I repeat that it is not as thou wouldst insinuate. His Majesty is far away from this place. In regard to my own inopportune visit to Ovingdean Grange, I can, at the proper season, render such explanation as will absolve Colonel Maunsel from any suspicion of complicity with me or my companion.”
“I pray your lordship not to bestow a thought upon me,” the old Cavalier cried. “Let these miscreants glut themselves with my blood if they will. They have robbed me of my darling boy, and I care not what else they take.”
“Be comforted, my father,” said Clavering; “my troubles will soon be over. Bethink thee of the sacred cause for which I lay down my life. That reflection will support me in my latest hour. Let it support thee now!”
“Well said, young sir!” exclaimed Lord Wilmot, extending his hand to him, which Clavering warmly grasped. “These are sentiments to deprive the scaffold of all terror. But trust me,” he added, in a cheerful tone, “you will disappoint your bloodthirsty captors. You are reserved for better days.”
“Mayhap your lordship also calculates upon escaping the punishment due to your treasonable offences against the Commonwealth?” jeered Delves.
“I calculate upon enjoying the fruits of my fidelity to a gracious lord and master,” Lord Wilmot replied, “as well as of my unceasing efforts to free his kingdom from the bloodthirsty and rebellious fanatics by whom it is overrun. Look well to thy charge, sirrah, for, by my faith, thou shalt have some trouble to hold me.”
As these bold words were uttered, his lordship’s eye rested upon John Habergeon, and he read in the old trooper’s looks that any attempt he might make for his own liberation would be effectively seconded by him.
Upon one person, for whose benefit the captive nobleman’s observations were chiefly uttered, they produced a cheering effect. Hope was suddenly reawakened in Colonel Maunsel’s breast, and he roused himself from the state of almost atony into which he had sunk. Things did not look now quite so desperate as they had done. He began to conceive projects for his son’s deliverance, and even debated with himself the possibility of stirring up his house hold to an attack upon the Ironsides.
But Delves did not allow him much time for reflection. Though regarding Lord Wilmot’s speech as mere bravado — Cavalier’s rodomontade, he styled it — the sergeant thought that the prisoners had given their tongues licence enough. A stop must be put to the further expression of their sentiments. Sternly ordering them to keep silence, he signified in a peremptory tone to Colonel Maunsel that he must retire to his own chamber. The command roused the old Cavalier’s ire, and he seemed by no means inclined to obey it; but his son besought him by his looks to yield compliance, and, after a little hesitation, he remounted the staircase much more firmly than he had come down it, and disappeared.
Three wearisome hours passed by, and Stelfax had not returned. During the whole of this time the prisoners were detained in the entrance-hall. Not a word was exchanged between Lord Wilmot and Clavering that did not reach the ears of Delves, who stood close beside them. The sergeant, however, began to find this lengthened attendance irksome, and his men, moreover, looked as if a little change would be agreeable.
Preparations were, therefore, made for the removal of the prisoners to the church. Delves had sixteen men under his command, three of the troopers, as already intimated, having gone with Stelfax in pursuit of the fugitive Cavalier. Half of the force at his disposal the sergeant decided upon taking with him to the church, deeming that number ample guard for the prisoners: the other half should stay at the Grange to keep watch over the malignant colonel and his household. But before carrying his plan into execution, he repaired to the buttery, and causing a couple of baskets to be filled with provisions and wine, despatched Moppett and Crundy — under a guard — with these stores to the church; and, on their return, he took out his prisoners, and placing himself at the head of the escort, moved towards the sacred edifice.
Torches to light the troop were carried by old Ticehurst, the gardener, and Nut Springett, who had been pressed into the service; and the flare of the flambeaux was reflected upon the steel caps, corslets, and carabines of the Ironsides. In the midst of the guard, by whom they were closely surrounded, marched the prisoners. The torchlight flashed upon gate and wall, upon overhanging tree and thick hedge-row as the little party advanced — Delves keeping a wary look-out lest any attack should be attempted.
Though all the Roundhead soldiers were religious fanatics, not one of them had the slightest scruple in turning the sacred pile they were approaching into a strong-room for their prisoners, and a barrack for themselves. No feeling of irreverence crossed them as the church-door was unlocked, and the sergeant marched into the little nave with as much unconcern as if he had been entering a stable. Old Ticehurst and Springett were dismissed at the church-door, their services being no longer required; but the torches were brought into the building, and set up in such a position that their flame illuminated the whole of the interior. Very strange the place looked by this lurid light — so much like a sepulchre as a church.
The sergeant’s first business was to secure his prisoners. Finding all as he had left it, he put them inside the tower, informing them with a grin that they saw their place of lodging for the night. Lord Wilmot glanced at the bare walls and the cold flagged floor, and shuddered involuntarily, but made no remonstrance, and Clavering was equally silent. But John Habergeon did not display any such self-restraint, but loudly remonstrated with the sergeant, and in the end succeeded in obtaining from him an oaken bench, a flask of wine, a loaf of bread with some cold viands, and a small lighted lamp. The strong oak door of the tower was left ajar, in order that the movements of the prisoners might be observed; and close to this door a trooper — it was Helpless Henly — was posted.
The prisoners disposed of, the gaolers prepared to enjoy themselves. The church-door was locked inside to prevent all chance of sudden intrusion; benches were drawn together, on one of which the contents of the baskets were placed; and Delves, who declared he was sore hungered, set his comrades the example by making a vigorous attack upon a goose-pie, which, in addition to being very savoury, was strongly provocative of thirst, compelling the sergeant to make frequent application to the wine-flask.
Indeed, it would almost seem as if those who stocked the baskets had sought out the most powerful incentives to drinking. Besides the goose-pie before mentioned, there was the best part of a salted chine of beef, together with three or four powdered neats’ tongues. These relishing viands soon produced the intended effect upon those who partook of them, and flask after flask was quickly emptied.
But the thirst of the Ironsides seemed to increase instead of diminishing, and Tola Fell asked leave of the sergeant, to procure a fresh supply of wine from the Grange. Delves, however, who could not fail to perceive that a certain impression had been already produced by the copious draughts which his comrades had swallowed, peremptorily refused — a decision which naturally occasioned some grumbling — but good humour was at once restored by the accidental discovery by Besadaiah Eavestaff of a couple of large stone bottles of strong waters, snugly packed at the bottom of a basket, which had been hitherto unaccountably overlooked. Loud shouts were raised by the troopers as these bottles were brought forth. In vain Delves, who began to be seriously apprehensive of the consequences, enjoined the men to abstain from further intemperance. His authority was set at nought. The bottles were passed from hand to hand, and as one of them neared the sergeant, he found the odour so irresistible that he could not pass the vessel without taking toll of its contents. The strong waters quickly unloosed the tongues of the troopers; they began to laugh and talk loudly, to sing and shout, comporting themselves as boisterously as wassailers at a tavern. They gave themselves up to enjoyment, and in order to set themselves completely at ease, unbuckled their belts, and took off their bandoleers, corslets, and steel caps, and in the end disembarrassed themselves of their scarlet jerkins. Stretching themselves luxuriously upon the benches, they lighted their pipes, and soon filled the church with the fumes of tobacco. After a while, their potations began to tell. Half of them dropped asleep, and Helpless Henly, who had drunk rather more than his comrades, was obliged to lean against the wall for support, looking the picture of inebriety. Delves was greatly enraged at the insubordination of his men. Finding it vain to rouse Helpless Henly to a sense of duty, he pushed him aside, and took his place. The drunken fellow reeled forward, and, stumbling over a bench, lay stretched upon the flags, whence he was unable to rise. At the noise caused by the fall of the huge Ironside, both Lord Wilmot and Clavering, who had been seated on the bench, started to their feet, and the former advanced to the door to see what was the matter, but, being instantly noticed by Delves, he was ordered back. But the glance had been enough to disclose to his lordship the inebriate condition of the troopers, and he whispered to his companions that he thought an attempt to escape would soon be practicable. The only person, as it seemed to him, capable of offering effectual resistance was Delves. If he were overcome, the rest might be easily mastered. Having heard what Lord Wilmot said, John Habergeon crept stealthily to the door, and, after reconnoitring the scene before him for a short time, told his companions to hold themselves in readiness for a sudden outburst.
“The grand point,” he said, “is to prevent, if possible, these rascals from using their fire-arms, or the alarm will be given to their comrades at the Grange. When the attack is made, let me go out first, and I will engage to disarm the sergeant. With the rest we must take our chance.”
CHAPTER II.
The Chase Of The Cavalier
LEAVING the desecrated church for a while, we will now follow Stelfax and his men in their chase after the fugitive Cavalier.
On gaining the brow of the hill which the flying horseman had crossed, the Roundhead leader looked around in vain for the object of his quest, and came to a momentary halt. The position he and his men had attained was a most commanding one, being, in fact, the south-eastern boundary of the existing race- course. To those unfamiliar with the locality, it may be proper to mention that the Brighton race-course — one of the most beautifully situated in England — forms a wide semicircular sweep over the gently undulating ridges of a very extensive down. The large arc described by this noble hill embraces part of Kemp Town, and constitutes a worthy background to Brighton itself. At present the race- hill retains much of its original character; but encroachments are being constantly made upon the springy turf so dear to the pedestrian and the horseman. At the time, however, of our story the eminence was wholly uncultivated and unenclosed. Magnificent was the view which it offered to Stelfax and his followers. The sea was dyed with the gorgeous hues of the sun, which had just sank beneath the waves. Towards the west the whole line of coast was visible, from the little fishing town of Brightelmstone, with its small ruinous castle or block-house standing close to the shore; Shoreham, with its harbour, in which a few vessels were moored; and, farther on, Worthing, and the narrow neck of land beyond it jutting out far into the sea. In this direction, also, the Isle of Wight could now be distinctly seen, rising proudly out of the glowing waters. Exactly opposite the Roundhead leader — though to reach it he would have had to cross a lower intermediate hill — stood one of those ancient encampments found on many commanding points of the downs, and denominated the White Hawk. Hard by this antique camp stood a fire-beacon. Other camp-crowned hills were also visible from the spot where Stelfax stood — namely, Ditchling, which, moreover, possessed a beacon; Hollingsbury, Wolstonbury, and Chanctonbury, the latter constituting a landmark from its clump of fir- trees.
The view Stelfax beheld, though sufficiently striking, differed materially from that which would now be offered to a spectator stationed on the same spot. No modern race-stand towered before the stern soldier of the Commonwealth as he cast his eye on the opposite hill — no lines of white railings marked out the course reserved for struggling steeds — no mighty structures reared on the southern slopes of the declivity met his ken — no stately terraces built on the high cliffs overlooking the sea awakened his admiration, or proclaimed the vicinity of a large and well-built town. Nothing of this kind did the Roundhead behold. In the valley immediately beneath him were a barn and sheepfold. At the point called the black Rock, near the coast, a small farm-house, with two or three cottages adjoining it, could be distinguished. These were the only habitations in sight. An air of solitude pervaded the hill. A single figure, darkly defined against the still radiant western sky, and dilated to gigantic proportions, could be perceived on the verge of the Roman encampment near the fire-beacon. None else was in sight, save an old grey-coated shepherd, who, crook in hand, and attended by his dog, was driving a flock of loudly-bleating sheep down the steep escarpment towards the fold in the valley.
A few seconds sufficed to place all we have taken so long to describe before the quick-sighted Ironside leader. He looked right and left, but could discern no trace of the fugitive, and yet he ought to be in view. The dark figure near the White Hawk camp could not possibly be him. The spot was too far off to have been reached. But Stelfax did not pause long in reflection. Dashing down the hill-side towards the shepherd, he fiercely demanded whether he had seen a horseman pass by, and in which direction he had ridden.
“Oh yes, I seed him,” the old shepherd replied; “he were going at a desperate pace for sure, and well-nigh trampled down some of my sheep as he rode through the flock.”
“But which way did he take?” Stelfax furiously demanded. “And mark me, thou hoary knave! I read deceit in thine eye. Attempt to mislead me, and I will return and shoot thee down with as little scruple as I would the cur at thy heels.”
“I have no thought to deceive you, honoured captain,” the old man replied, in a voice quavering with terror. “The person you be searching after rode off by yon patch of gorse.” Pointing, as he spoke, with his crook towards an acclivity on the north-west.
Stelfax tarried not a moment longer, but galloped off with his men in the direction indicated by the shepherd. The brow of the hill was covered so thickly with furze that it was impossible to pursue a straightforward course over it, and the Ironsides had to deviate a little to the left in order to avoid the impediment.
They soon, however, crossed the summit, and then fresh valleys opened on either side. New downs, too, rose before them, varying little in aspect or character from those which they had just traversed. Though the summits still glowed with the reflected radiance of the sky, the coombs looked dull and sombre; but there was no positive obscurity, and as Stelfax plunged his gaze into the hollows, he failed in discovering the object of his quest. On either hand the valleys were wide and extensive, and the sides of the hills bare, and destitute of covert sufficient to screen the fugitive from observation. The valley on the left, which ran in a northerly direction — the course apparently taken by the fugitive — was so broad and open, that, had the flying horseman gone that way, he must have been at once distinguished. But neither on the right or on the left could he be seen. If he had ascended the opposite downs, he must necessarily be in view. But he was not there. These considerations led Stelfax to the conclusion that he must have found some place of concealment, and his suspicions were instantly directed to a small holt or thicket growing near the foot of the opposite hill, which would offer convenient shelter. Satisfied with the correctness of his supposition, the Roundhead leader at once give directions to his men to separate, and approach the wood in such manner as would enable them most completely to invest it. The injunctions were promptly obeyed, Stelfax himself moving off a little to the left, and then mounting the hill-side, so as to bring himself close to the top of the holt which straggled slantingly up the acclivity. These precautionary measures taken, entrance was simultaneously made into the thicket at four different points. The timber of which the holt was composed consisted almost entirely of ash, hazel, and oaks. None of the trees had attained any great size, and being planted closely together — much too closely to allow free growth — while brambles and thorns likewise abounded in the thicket, it was in places almost impervious. The crashing of branches proclaimed the advance of the Ironsides, and more than one pheasant was disturbed by them. But as yet the fugitive had not been detected. All at once Stelfax, who had pushed on more expeditiously than his men, descried the horseman hidden in the depths of the grove. Unable to repress a shout of exultation at the sight, he called to the Cavalier to surrender, but the latter replied by firing a pistol at him: the thickly intervening trees rendering it impossible that aim could be taken, the ball lodged in the trunk of an adjoining oak. The Cavalier then turned and endeavoured to make good his retreat, while Stelfax pressed vigorously after him, shouting to his men to intercept him. But it soon appeared that the fugitive was quite as active as his pursuers, and understood rather better than they did how to make his way through a tangled thicket. He dexterously slipped through the trees, while the fiery haste and impetuosity of Stelfax only tended to his own disadvantage. The Roundhead leader made one or two ineffectual dashes at the Cavalier, but the other easily avoided him, and, guided by the noise made by the advancing troopers, he likewise managed to keep out of their way. This adroit mode of proceeding soon increased the distance between Stelfax and himself, and enabled him to obtain a considerable start ere the Roundhead leader and his men could extricate themselves from the holt and give chase.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 570
