“That is true,” Lord Wilmot replied. “And it decides me to shun an encounter with them, if it can be helped. But will you not go with us?”
“No, my lord,” Colonel Maunsel replied, firmly. “My place is here. To your horses as fast as you can! Heaven grant these Roundheads reach not the back of the house ere you get out. Ninian will show you the way. If you have no other place of refuge, go to the Star at Alfriston, where you are certain to find shelter. John Habergeon knows the house well. Adieu, my dear lord! — and adieu to all!”
On this the Royalist hurried across the hall, and, guided by Ninian, tracked the passage leading to the buttery, and made for the outlet at the rear of the house. Clavering lingered behind for a moment to receive his father’s blessing, and then speeded after the others.
A walled enclosure, possessing two or three outlets leading to different parts of the premises, protected the back part of the mansion. The nearest way to the spot where the horses were stationed lay through the farm-yard, but if this course had been taken, the fugitive Royalists must at once have encountered the enemy, and Ninian therefore led them by a roundabout course through the garden, with which one of the doors in the yard communicated.
We have stated that Clavering was the last to come forth, and ere he stepped into the yard, all the others had crossed it and passed into the garden, with the single exception of John Habergeon. The old trooper waited for his young master, and it was well he did so. While Clavering was hurrying towards the outlet which John held open for him, urging him to look quick, for the red- coats were at hand (as was, indeed, evident by the noise), a door on the opposite side of the yard was burst open, and in rushed Stelfax and his men. Though the place was obscure, the light of the moon betrayed Clavering to his foes, and the infuriated Roundhead leader made a bound towards him like that of a tiger.
But he was balked of his prey, just when he fancied he had it in his grasp. Clavering succeeded in passing through the door, which was clapped to in the face of his pursuer by John Habergoen. The door could be bolted on the inner side, but on the outer, or garden side, there was only an iron handle connected with the latch. Seizing this handle, John urged his young master to fly, telling him he could hold the door for a minute or two, and then should be able to take care of himself. The old trooper’s tone of determination was not to be mistaken, so Clavering flew across the garden in the direction taken by the other fugitives.
Meantime, Stelfax tugged with all his might against the door, but John maintained it firmly against him, until, hearing the other prepare to fire at him through the boards, he deemed it prudent to let go, and decamped just in time to avoid the lodgement of a bullet in his body. Speeding with the swiftness of lightning across the grass-plot, he tried to gain the screen of the yew-tree avenue. But ere he got half way to it, the Ironsides were out and after him. Several shots were fired at him, and one or two of them must have checked his career, if he had not been provided with steel cap and back-piece, both of which were bullet-proof. As it was, he got off unscathed, and, passing through a gate, reached the little thicket at the back of the garden.
The report of the fire-arms had alarmed his friends; all of whom, Clavering included, had reached their horses, and were already in the saddle. Guessing what had happened, and fearing John might be shot or captured, yet anxious to lend him aid, they rode towards the garden gate, and had the satisfaction to see him issue from it unhurt. The old trooper shouted for joy at the sight of his friends, and in another instant was on the back of the steed, the bridle of which was held for him by Ninian. Hardly was this accomplished, when Stelfax and his men appeared.
On beholding the foe, Lord Wilmot drew his sword, and calling upon his companions to follow him, charged the Roundheads, resolved to hew them down. But the Ironside leader did not care to abide the attack. His own pistols and the carabines of his men had been discharged, and time had not been allowed them to reload. He therefore gave the word to retreat into the garden, and the command was promptly obeyed. Satisfied with this success, and not caring to continue the struggle, the Royalists contented themselves with a loud triumphant shout that made the holt ring again, and rode off.
CHAPTER III.
The Night Ride To Newhaven — The Brig And The Frigate
LORD WILMOT determined to act upon Colonel Maunsel’s suggestion, and seek an asylum at the Star at Alfriston; and both Colonel Gunter and Clavering approved of the plan. John Habergeon undertook to get them secretly into the house. To reach Alfriston, they must proceed by Newhaven; for, although the former village lay a few miles to the south-east of the little seaport at the mouth of the Ouse, the river had to be crossed, and this could only be accomplished either by the ferry at Newhaven or the bridge at Lewes. Towards Newhaven, therefore, they directed their course.
The night was clear and calm, and a crescent moon hung like a lamp in the deep starlit vault. It was about the second hour after midnight, and had any one seen the troop careering over the downs at that lonesome time, they might have been judged to be bent on some dark design. But to newly-escaped captives, as they all were, the sense of freedom was inexpressibly delightful. It being a principle with the Cavaliers to banish care, and make the most of the passing moment, they all appeared in good spirits. The fineness of the night, the fresh air, and the pleasant and wholesome exercise so exhilarated them, that Lord Wilmot and Colonel Gunter soon became quite cheerful, and even Clavering shook off his misgivings.
Pursuing their way, in the first instance, along the undulating ridge of the hill trending towards the coast, they passed an ancient barrow, and a fire- beacon contiguous to it, which latter occupied the site of the present windmill, until they came to the Newhaven road, skirting which, and keeping on the turf, they descended the gentle declivity dipping into Rottingdean.
And here we may, parenthetically, remark, that no more delightful ride or walk can be found in any part of the kingdom than is to be had by following the line of coast between Brighton and Newhaven. Fine turf, which need never be quitted, is to be found the whole way. A little to the west of Rottingdean the cliffs form a natural terrace carpeted with sod as smooth as velvet, redolent of wild thyme and other fragrant herbs, and commanding splendid sea-views; but, indeed, nearly the same thing may be said of eight miles out of the nine. The elasticity of the turf, and the freshness of the breeze, make exercise taken under such circumstances a delightful recreation.
Rottingdean, a village of some antiquity, was then nearly as large as it is at the present time. A few little tenements, occupied by fishermen, were built near the shore, but the better sort of habitations lay further up the valley, near the church. Three or four broad-bottomed boats were hauled up, high and dry, on the shingly beach, but there were no other evidences of any maritime calling on the part of the inhabitants. The whole village seemed fast asleep. Not a dog barked as the Royalists rode past the cottages, and mounted the opposite hill.
At that time the Sussex roads were accounted among the worst in England, and as the best were bad enough, their condition may be surmised. The ascents were excessively steep, and the descents proportionately dangerous. The ruts were tremendous; and in bad weather, or after the breaking up of a frost, the chalky mud was so thick, slab, and tenacious, that carts and other vehicles often stuck fast in it, and could with difficulty be extricated. The coast road nigh which our Royalists rode was as indifferent as any in the county, but the turf on either side of it was exquisite — fine as a well-kept bowling-green.
On gaining the brow of the hill on the further side of Rottingdean, Lord Wilmot allowed his gaze to range over the sea, a wide expanse of which here lay before him. A pleasant breeze was blowing from the south-east. In the deep stillness of the night the waves could be distinctly heard dashing upon the shore, and rattling amongst the shingles. The beams of the moon fell in a line of quivering light athwart the waves, tipping their edges with silver, and within this line a small brig could be discerned, shaping her course towards the sou
th, as if about to cross the Channel. As he watched this little vessel cleaving her way through the glittering waters, Lord Wilmot could not help exclaiming aloud, “Yon brig seems bound for the opposite shore. Would that the object of our greatest solicitude were on board her!”
“In that case, we might say that all our anxiety was ended,” cried Colonel Gunter.
“Not so,” said Clavering, “for if I mistake not, there is a frigate cruising out yonder, opposite Newhaven, which will speedily compel the little sloop to haul to, so that if his Majesty were on board of the latter vessel he would inevitably be captured.”
“By Heaven, you are right!” exclaimed Lord Wilmot. “Rebels swarm upon the waters as they do on the land. These shores are so jealously watched, that escape seems barely possible. See! a gun is fired by the frigate as a signal to the brig to stay her course.”
As he spoke, a flash was visible from the side of the more distant vessel, followed soon afterwards by a loud report. The sloop instantly lowered her sails in obedience to the summons to stay, and floated listlessly upon the waves.
“I hope no Royalist is on board that little bark,” exclaimed Colonel Gunter. “If so, he will soon be in the hands of the enemy, for see! a boat is lowered from the frigate.”
The Royalists paused to look on. In another minute the boat was manned, and propelled with lusty strokes by a dozen well-armed seamen, accompanied by an officer seated in the stern.
“There they go, in evident expectation of making a prize,” cried Lord Wilmot. “Let us hope the rascals may be disappointed. But as we can render no assistance to the good cause, but may jeopardize our own safety by needless delay, we had best move on.”
“We have here a proof of the great hazard his Majesty will incur by attempting this means of escape,” Clavering observed to Lord Wilmot. “Does not the incident excite your lordship’s apprehensions?”
“The risk will be great, undoubtedly,” Lord Wilmot replied; “but it must be run. The king is exposed to greater perils on shore. A fast-sailing sloop and a good captain are what we need; and these requisites are to be found, according to your father, in the Swiftsure, commanded by Captain Nicholas Tattersall, of Shoreham.”
“I know Captain Tattersall. He is a good seaman, and a trusty fellow,” exclaimed Clavering.
“Unluckily, he is absent just now,” Lord Wilmot replied; “but if circumstances comple us to wait, we will have recourse to him.”
Having mounted two or three eminences, and descended into as many hollows, the party now reached a flat upland covered with gorse and brambles, and soon afterwards the road, instead of continuing along the summits of the cliffs, turned off on the left in a rapid descent towards Newhaven, which was only about a mile distant. From this point, had there been light enough, the greater part of the Lewes levels, with the noble downs beyond them, would have been visible, but the distant landscape was buried in obscurity, increased by vapours arising from the broad swampy tract below. About half a mile off, on a headland overlooking the quay of New-haven, and known as the Castle Hill, stood another fire-beacon. Rising rapidly down the hill, and passing the old church, amidst its trees, on the right, the fugitives dashed through the town to the ferry.
Though of no great width, the Ouse has a channel of considerable depth, and the tide, which runs up higher than Lewes, being confined within narrow banks, rises with great rapidity, and ebbs with equal speed. At the present day the river is crossed by a drawbridge, but at the time of our story the only means of transit was by the ferry in question. When the cavalcade reached the bank, they easily discovered the large flat-bottomed, punt-shaped boat, used for the conveyance of men and cattle across the stream, with its huge oars and poles inside it. But it was chained fast to a post on the hard, and no ferryman was there to set it free or undertake its conduct across the river. Our Royalists, however, were not men to be easily checked. With the aid of a stone, John Habergeon soon broke off the staple that held the chain, and he and Eustace Saxby undertook to perform the part of ferrymen. Three of the horses — all that the boat would hold at a time securely — were embarked; and these, with the three Cavaliers, having been transported to the other side, the self-constituted boatmen returned for the rest of the horses, which had been left in charge of Ninian. These also, together with the young falconer, were safely ferried across the Ouse. This done, and horses and men being landed, the boat was turned adrift, and borne rapidly by the ebbing current towards the sea, John Habergeon observing, with a laugh, “If those rascally Roundheads should pursue us, they will be brought to a stop here, for there is not another ferry-boat or a bridge betwixt Newhaven and Lewes.”
On leaving Newhaven, the fugitives took a northerly course, and for some time followed the road leading from Seaford to Denton and Tarring Neville. They were now skirting a disused channel of the Ouse, and could hear the hollow cry of the bittern booming across the marshy levels. Enveloped in the mists arising from this fenny region, they could scarcely see a yard before them, and had to proceed with some caution, until, after passing through Denton, they struck across the uplands on the right, and soon got clear of the fogs. They then made their way, regardless of all impediments, to Alfriston, where they arrived long before any of the inhabitants of the village were stirring, and proceeded forthwith towards the place of refuge recommended by Colonel Maunsel.
CHAPTER IV.
The “Star” At Alfriston
THE Star at Alfriston, happily still existing, is one of the best specimens to be met with of an ancient English hostelry. Dating back as far as the early part of the sixteenth century, this curious old building was originally designed as a resting-place for pilgrims and mendicant friars, and was meant, moreover, to afford sanctuary to such as claimed ecclesiastical protection. The woodwork of the ancient hostelry is enriched with quaint and grotesque carvings, all of which are imbued with mediæval character and spirit. On either side of the wide-arched portal are saintly figures, and under the windows of the door may be seen two snakes with tails entwined. At a corner of the structure is a large carved lion, and over it two apes sustaining a mace crowned. Near the sign-post there used to be a dog, and beside it a bacchanalian figure with bottle and glass — but these, and doubtless many other equally curious memorials of the past, are gone. Within, there are other traces of antiquity. On the main beam of the principal room is a shield, inscribed with the sacred characters I.H.S.
How it came to pass at a period like that in which our Tale is laid, when all ecclesiastical ornaments were mutilated or destroyed by bigots and fanatics, that such decorations as were possessed by the old hostelry of Alfriston should have been spared, we pretend not to determine. Such must have been the case, since they are still preserved. Perhaps the inhabitants of the village were less bigoted than their neighbours, or they may have respected the idolatrous carvings of the inn out of regard for the worthy host. Honest Stephen Buxted brewed such good ale, sold such good wine, and trimmed his sails so dexterously, that he found favour with both factions. Secretly, however, his inclinations were for the Royalists, by whom, as we have intimated, he was trusted; many fugitive Cavaliers having at various times found refuge beneath his roof.
Dawn was just breaking as the little cavalcade entered Alfriston. Slackening their pace, they rode through the village as quietly as they could, being anxious not to disturb the slumbers of the inhabitants. The fine old cruciform church, with its lofty spire, round which the jackdaws were already wheeling, making the welkin ring with their cawing, reared itself before them. But neither on this ancient structure, nor on the mutilated stone-cross standing in the centre of the street, did the Royalists bestow much attention. Their object being to gain secret admittance to the hostelry, they did not halt before the front door, but turned down a lane at the side of the house, and at once proceeded to the stables. Here John Habergeon, in fulfilment of his promise, quickly managed to knock up the ostler, who, as soon as he recognized him, came forth and helped to convey their steeds to th
e stalls.
While this was going on, Stephen Buxted made his appearance at the back door of the hostelry, anxious to know what guests had thus unexpectedly arrived, but being completely in dishabille, having only just sprung out of bed, he did not care to venture forth in the chilly air. Seeing a Republican soldier, as he supposed, issue from the stable, honest Stephen was about to beat a hasty retreat, and shut the door after him, when Clavering — for he it was who had come forth — arrested him by calling out, in the Cavaliers’ shibboleth, that he was a friend of Cæsar.
“A friend of Cæsar in the accoutrements of a rebel!” muttered Buxted. “Seek not to impose upon me, good master,” he added, aloud. “Be you whom you may, you cannot enter the house at this untimely hour. You must tarry for an hour or two within the stable, and make shift with clean straw for a bed.”
So saying, he was again about to retire, when Clavering once more arrested him, by calling out, “Do you not know me, Buxted?”
“The voice sounds familiar!” cried the host, pausing. “Surely it cannot be Master Clavering Maunsel, of Ovingdean Grange?”
“You have guessed aright, Buxted,” the young man replied, advancing towards him, so as to afford the host a better view of his features; and he then added, in a lower voice, “I and some friends have come to take shelter with you, and if you can accommodate us, it is possible we may remain with you for a few days — perhaps a week.”
“You and your friends shall be welcome, good Master Clavering,” the host replied. “I trust all is well with your honoured father. I need scarcely say that the son of Colonel Maunsel shall have the best entertainment my poor house affords.”
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