At the appointed time the poor clergyman and his daughter, followed by Patty carrying a cloak bag and some other trifling matters required by her young mistress, descended into the hall. By Stelfax’s directions horses had been brought round for them from the stables, and though Dulcia would have willingly declined his help, the Ironside captain gallantly assisted her to mount her palfrey. Mr. Beard was accommodated with a strong, steady-going pad-nag, and Patty was placed on a pillion behind him. While this was going on, Delves and the troopers who had been quartered at the Grange joined their comrades. Helpless Henly and the two others who were still under arrest were deprived of their arms and guarded, looking much abashed at their ignominious position.
All being in readiness, Stelfax sprang into the saddle, and gave the word to start. The walls and gables of the old mansion then rang with the inspiriting clangour as the trumpeters sounded a march, and the troop rode slowly out of the village, and mounted the hill on the right, greatly to the relief of the inmates of the Grange, who felt as if a heavy nightmare were taken off their breasts. Most of the cottagers, however, followed the soldiers to the summit of the eminence, and stationed themselves near the ancient barrow to watch the progress of the cavalcade over the downs. The day was fine, and the polished casques and corslets of the warriors gleamed brightly in the sunshine, the long array of martial-looking figures constituting a striking spectacle.
No incident deserving mention marked the ride to Lewes. It was a melancholy journey to Dulcia, and not all Stelfax’s efforts, who rode beside her, and who was officious in his attentions, could draw her into conversation. Mr. Beard was equally sad. Patty, however, whose spirits were ever of the lightest, was amused by the novelty of the situation, and thought it a fine thing to have so many stalwart-looking troopers riding beside her; some of whom could not help casting furtive glances at the pretty handmaiden.
On arriving at Lewes, Stelfax conducted his prisoners at once to Mock-Beggar Hall. At first old Zachary Trangmar peremptorily refused to receive them, alleging the want of suitable accommodation, but the Ironside captain overruled his objections, and used such arguments with him, that, in the end, though with great reluctance, the old usurer assented. Eventually, therefore, Mr. Beard and his daughter, with her attendant, were admitted, and took possession of a suite of dismantled rooms, none of which contained an article of furniture. However, their wants in this respect were partially supplied, in the course of the evening, by Skrow Antram and the old couple whom we have described as living with Zachary in the capacity of servants.
CHAPTER VI.
The Shepherds On Mount Caburn
SOVRAN in beauty is Mount Caburn. Fairest of Sussex hills. Firle Ridge, with its beacon-crowned headland, frowning from the opposite side of the wide gorge, like a rival potentate, may be a more striking object — the long and precipitous escarpment of Kingston Hill, rising on the westerly side of the Lewes levels, is imposing — Mount Harry, with its historical recollections, at the back of the old town, has charms of its own — Ditchling is loftier — Wolstonbury and Chanctonbury have each special and peculiar points of attraction; but if we are called upon to indicate the hill which unites the greatest beauty of form with the rarest advantages of situation, we should unhesitatingly mention Mount Caburn.
Magnificent is the prospect it commands. Look where you will the eye is delighted. Towards the west lies the broad alluvial plain, known as the Lewes Levels, through which the meandering and deep-channelled Ouse works its way towards its embouchure at Newhaven. Here, where the narrow and tortuous river is itself unseen, its course may be detected by the craft it bears along; for here, not unfrequently, as has been sung of the same spot.
the sail
Majestic moves along the sedgy vale.
Here, at the present day, may be seen the swift locomotive shooting along its iron path towards the coast. At the opposite side of this wide plain — once the bed of an inland sea or marine lake — stand the lofty and precipitous escarpments, just mentioned, of Kingston Hill. Turn but a little to the north, and lo! the ancient town of Lewes rises before you with its lordly castle and old priory ruins, backed by Mount Harry. Yon bold and picturesque headland in front is Firle Beacon. It would almost seem as if some diluvian convulsion had torn these hills asunder. through the wide ravine or valley, by which they are separated, now runs a branch of the railway, which may be followed, if you list, for miles in a south-easterly direction. Tracking the line of coast, you discern Pevensey Castle and Battle Abbey. Close at hand is pleasant and picturesque Beddingham, with its antique and square-towered church; and nearer yet, at the base of the hill, delightfully-situated Glynde, with the old Elizabethan mansion and well-timbered park adjoining it. But turn again towards the east and north-east, and let your gaze wander over the vast district. The view is almost unbounded — a splendid panorama, scarcely to be surpassed for variety and extent. Numberless hamlets with their churches, mansions surrounded by parks, detached farmhouses and homesteads may be discerned in this wide- spread plain, while in certain parts of it the countless hedge-rows, interspersed with taller timber, give it the appearance of an immense garden.
But it is not merely from the splendid prospect it enjoys, from the smoothness and beauty of its outline, from its gentle undulations, graceful slopes, deep dells and hollowed coombs, that Mount Caburn merits distinction. In addition to other attractions, it possesses the most perfect specimen of an ancient entrenchment to be met with on the Sussex Downs. The strength of this encampment shows the estimation in which the position it occupies was held. Circular in form, with double trenches, the outer of which is broad and deep, while the inner platform rises to a considerable height, the old defensive earthwork looks almost as fresh as when first constructed. Two centuries have, no doubt, wrought many and great changes in this part of Sussex; have multiplied its inhabitants, reclaimed and cultivated its wastes, digged sluices in its marshy levels, and, above all, carried railways through its plains, its devious valleys, and along its coast. But the general aspect of the country is the same. Above all, Mount Caburn is unchanged. In the middle of the seventeenth century this majestic hill looked as smooth and beautiful as it does in our own day.
The shades of night had scarcely fled from the summit of Mount Caburn, when two shepherds — such, at least, their garb proclaimed them — emerged from the inner trench of the encampment, and mounting upon the elevated platform withinside, gazed towards the beacon-crowned headland of Firle. The habiliments of these personages, as we have said, exactly resembled those of the swains accustomed to tend the flocks on the downs. Each of them wore a long-skirted loose coat of grey serge, stout hobnailed boots, brown leathern gaiters, and a broad-brimmed felt hat, being furthermore provided with a crook. But no dog followed them, and if you could have looked beneath those grey serge coats, you would have found that the pacific-looking swains had pistols and short hunting-swords stuck in their belts. Moreover, if you had peered beneath the hats pulled down over their brows, you would have seen at once they were not the simple rustics they professed to be. Both of them might be termed young men, though one of them had the advantage of his companion in this respect by some years, and both might be accounted handsome. The younger of the two, indeed, was singularly good-looking. But as there is no need to make a mystery of the matter, we may state at once that they were Cavalier acquaintances, though the reader might have failed to recognize them as such, inasmuch as the outward distinctions of the party to which they belonged were gone. Long scented locks and peaked beards had vanished, and given place to close-cropped heads and smooth-shaven chins. Metamorphosed, however, as they were, the two persons were no other than Colonel Gunter and Clavering Maunsel.
Night had but recently fled, and the sun had not yet risen to gladden the hills and gild them with his beams. Mists lay in the marshy levels on the right, and a thin curtain of vapour shrouded Beddingham, concealing all of the village except the square tower of its church. Mists also hung over Glynde Pla
ce and the woods adjoining it. But the summits of the downs, though grey- looking and somewhat sombre, were wholly free from fog; and a ruddy glow in the east announced the speedy advent of the sun. The gaze of the Cavaliers was turned towards the elevated ridge on the further side of the valley, but though both strained their eyes in this direction for some minutes, they could not descry the object they sought. Neither spoke, but each continued to look eagerly towards the Firle heights. Each moment the sky had been growing brighter and redder, as if the east were all a-flame, when suddenly the god of day himself appeared, and, ere long, the hills glowed with his splendour. It was at this juncture that the object which our two Cavaliers had sought for so eagerly became visible. It was a shepherd like themselves, a tall man clothed in a long-skirted loose great-coat, with a crook in his hand.
“He is there! I see him! It is John Habergeon!” exclaimed Clavering. “We shall now learn whether he has succeeded in engaging the vessel.”
“He has failed,” cried Colonel Gunter. “See you not he holds the crook horizontally above his head, as was agreed should be the signal in that event.”
“I fear it is so,” Clavering replied. “But give me your crook, and I will make the matter sure.”
As he spoke, he placed the two staves crosswise, and held them aloft.
In answer to the signal, the individual on the opposite hill instantly dropped his crook, and extended his long arms horizontally from his body.
“There is now no doubt whatever of failure,” Clavering observed, in a tone of disappointment. “A vessel is not to be procured for the king at Newhaven. We must seek for means of transport across the Channel elsewhere.”
“Stay! he has more to communicate,” Colonel Gunter exclaimed. “He has fixed a white kerchief like a small banner to the hook of his staff, and hoists it aloft.”
“That is the signal of danger,” rejoined Clavering. “And look! he waves the kerchief thrice. The danger is urgent. He himself is making off. We must fly.”
“Ay, let us to Racton at once,” Colonel Gunter returned. “Nothing more is to be done here. If we are lucky enough to reach my house, we can rest in security, and hatch fresh schemes for his Majesty’s deliverance.”
On this, they crossed the encampment, and plunged into the devious and secluded dell on the right.
They reached Racton, after many hairbreadth ‘scapes, on the evening of the following day. Nearly a fortnight elapsed before John Habergeon was able to join his young master, and he then brought word that Colonel Maunsel had been dangerously ill — in fact, at the point of death — but was now better. Immediately on his recovery, the colonel had gone over to Lewes to surrender himself to Stelfax, and procure the liberation of Mr. Beard and Dulcia, who had been taken as hostages for him by the Republican officer. This the colonel had accomplished, and he had furthermore obtained permission, on account of his infirmities, to continue a prisoner on parole at his own dwelling. Such was the sum of the intelligence brought by the old trooper from Ovingdean Grange; and it was far better than could have been anticipated. Information of Lord Wilmot’s movements, and of those of his royal master, was furnished by the faithful and active emissary, Ninian Saxby, who passed constantly to and fro between the Cavaliers in various disguises. Many changes of plan took place, but at last it was definitively settled that the king should embark at Shoreham, and Colonel Gunter received orders to hire Captain Tattersall’s brig, the Swiftsure.
CHAPTER VII.
What Happened At The “Dolphin” At Shoreham
OUR story must now be advanced about a week beyond the foregoing date, which will bring us to the 13th of October, 1651. On the afternoon of this day, two well-mounted horsemen, followed at a respectful distance by a servant likewise on horseback, rode from Bramber towards Shoreham. To judge from their attire, both horsemen must be Roundheads. They wore neither laced cloaks nor laced bands. Their garments were sad-coloured, and destitute of all embroidery, and their hats tall and steeple-crowned, and lacking feathers. Moreover, their locks were cropped close to the head. Their servant, a tall, powerful-looking man, well-stricken in years, was habited as became a follower of such puritanical-looking masters. But though the horsemen were dressed like Roundheads, their deportment, when not in the presence of witnesses, would have led to a very different conclusion, and any one who could have listened to their discourse would soon have learnt that they belonged to the opposite faction. Once more we have to announce our friends Colonel Gunter and Clavering Maunsel in a new disguise, though it will be scarcely necessary, we think, to state that their tall old serving-man was John Habergeon.
From its advantageous situation near the mouth of the Adur, Shoreham soon became one of the principal harbours on the Sussex coast. At the time of our Tale it was much frequented, and several sloops, with other vessels of larger tonnage, were now to be seen in the haven. At low water, the embouchure of the Adur, which is of some width, is characterized by large, glistening banks of mud, but as the channel at this time happened to be full, it presented the appearance of a broad and goodly river. The ancient church, with the habitations near it, which could be seen on the near banks of the river, was that of Old Shoreham; but it was towards New Shoreham and its haven that our friends bent their course. Here, as at the older seaport, there is a church of great antiquity and beauty; and after passing this noble structure — not without bestowing upon it a glance of admiration — the disguised Cavaliers proceeded to the Dolphin, an inn built on the edge of the quay, much frequented by seafaring people, and then tenanted by one Absolom. Bridger. Dismounting, and giving their horses to John Habergeon, by whom they were taken to the stables, the two friends entered the house, and after ordering some oysters and a bottle of sack, and desiring to be shown into a private room, Colonel Gunter inquired of the host whether he knew Captain Tattersall, of the Swiftsure.
“Know him! I have known Nick Tattersall since he was a boy!” exclaimed Bridger; “and a better seaman or an honester fellow doesn’t exist.”
“Thou speakest warmly of him, friend Absolom,” replied Colonel Gunter, thinking it necessary, to support his puritanical character; “but is he in your harbour of Shoreham at present?”
“He was here this very morning,” Bridger replied, “by the same token that he discussed a cup of sack with an egg in it. He has but newly returned from Plymouth, and will soon make a trip to Poole, in Dorsetshire.”
“So I have heard,” replied Colonel Gunter. “I have a commission to give him, and would gladly speak with him, if he can be found.”
“Found he can easily be, I will answer for it,” Bridger replied. “I will fetch him to you anon, and you shall have the oysters and sack without delay.”
Not many minutes after the host’s disappearance, the door was suddenly opened, and a tall man, clad in a plainly-cut black cloak and Geneva band, and wearing a lofty steeple-crowned hat, peered inquisitively into the room. His eye rested upon Clavering, who at once recognized him, and was about to address him, when the other raised his finger to his lips in token of silence, hastily retreated, and closed the door.
“Who is that mysterious personage?” Colonel Gunter inquired, not altogether liking the intrusion. “I hope he is not an enemy — he evidently knows you.”
“I ought to regard him as a friend, seeing that he once rendered me a most important service,” Clavering replied. “But I confess I distrust him, and am sorry to see him here. It is Increase Micklegift, who, when our worthy Mr. Beard was deprived of his living at Ovingdean, succeeded to the church. He is an Independent minister. Ever since he assisted Lord Wilmot and myself, with the others, to escape from the church, he has never dared, so I learn from John Habergeon, to show himself at the rectory or in the village. I am surprised to find him here.”
“I am sorry he recognized you,” Colonel Gunter replied, somewhat thoughtfully; “for though he may not suspect our errand, he may be troublesome to us.”
“I do not think any danger is to be apprehended fro
m him,” Clavering replied. “He is in as much jeopardy as we ourselves are, and if he were to fall into Stelfax’s hands little clemency would be shown him.”
“Granting that his conduct has compromised him with the Roundheads,” observed Colonel Gunter, “do you not see, my good young friend, that he is the more likely to be anxious to purchase his safety, which he might easily do if he knew our design. He could make his own terms with Stelfax.”
“True,” rejoined Clavering, uneasily. “I see the danger. But I trust it may be averted. Ah! here comes our host. We will question him on the subject.”
“As he spoke, Master Bridger entered with the oysters and a flask of wine, and as he was placing them on the table, Clavering said:
“Tell me, worthy host, who was the tall man who looked into the room just now? He had the air of a preacher of the gospel.”
“And such he is,” Bridger replied. “I dare not mention his name, for he is in some trouble with the authorities. It may be that he mistook the door, for he occupies the adjoining chamber.”
“What! he is in the next room!” exclaimed Colonel Gunter, glancing significantly at Clavering. “Bring clean pipes, Absolom, and a paper of thy best Spanish tobacco.”
“Anon, anon! worshipful sirs. I have done your bidding as regards Captain Tattersall. A messenger has been dispatched for him.”
“Show him in on his arrival,” said Colonel Gunter.
“You shall not have long to wait, then,” answered Bridger with a laugh. “I hear his lusty voice outside. Walk in, Captain Tattersall — walk in,” he added, opening the door. “These are the gentlemen who desire to speak with you.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 578
