The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth
Page 581
After quitting the forest and skirting Stanstead Park, the royal party pursued their way through a lovely and well-wooded district, until they came to the foot of an eminence called Bow Hill, and entered the narrow and picturesque vale denominated Kingly Bottom — so called from a battle between the inhabitants of Chichester and the Danes — and Charles failed not to notice the group of venerable yew-trees — venerable in his days, though still extant, with the trifle of two centuries added to their age — that adorn the valley. After this, they passed Stoke Down, bestowing a passing observation on the curious circular hollows indented in the sod.
From the acclivities over which the travellers next rode the ancient and picturesque city of Chichester could be seen on the level land near the sea, the tall spire and pinnacles of its noble cathedral, the adjacent bell-tower, and the quaint old octagonal market-cross, erected in the fifteenth century, all rising above the crumbling walls still surrounding the city. As Charles looked towards this fine old cathedral, he could not help deploring to his companions the damage it had sustained at the hands of the sacrilegious Republican soldiers.
Avoiding Chichester, the king and his company pursued their way along the beautiful and well-wooded slopes of the Goodwood downs. If the journey had been unattended with risk, it would have been delightful; but beset by peril as he was, on all sides, Charles did not lose his sense of enjoyment. The constant presence of danger had made him well-nigh indifferent to it. Constitutionally brave, almost reckless, he was assailed by no idle apprehensions. The chief maxim in his philosophy was to make the most of the passing moment, and not to let the chances of future misfortune damp present enjoyment.
The fineness of the weather contributed materially to the pleasure of the ride. It was an exquisite morning, and the day promised to continue equally beautiful throughout. The trees were clothed with the glowing livery of later autumn, and as the whole district was well and variously wooded, there was every variety of shade in the foliage still left, from bright yellow to deepest red. Corn was then, as now, extensively grown in the broad and fertile fields in the flat land nearer the sea, but the crops had been gathered, and the fields were for the most part covered with stubble. The prospect offered to the king, as he looked towards the coast, was varied and extensive. On the left, the ancient mansion of Halnaker, now in ruins, but at that time presenting a goodly specimen of the Tudor era of architecture, seemed to invite him to halt; and Colonel Gunter informed his Majesty that over the buttery hatch in this old house were scrolls hospitably entreating visitors to “come in and drink,” assuring them they would be “les bien-venus.” Notwithstanding these inducements to tarry, Charles rode on, galloping along the fine avenue of chestnut-trees, the fallen leaves of which now thickly strewed the ground.
Halnaker was soon left behind, and ere long the somewhat devious course of the royal party led them through the exquisite grove of beech-trees skirting Slindon Park, the remarkable beauty of the timber eliciting the warm admiration of the king, who would fain have loitered to admire it at his leisure.
CHAPTER III.
An Encounter With The Governor Of Arundel Castle
THE proud-looking castle of Arundel was now visible, magnificently situated on the terrace of a hill, surrounded by noble woods, above which towered the ancient central keep. From the spot where the royal party surveyed. it, about two miles off, the stately edifice looked the picture of feudal grandeur, but a nearer approach showed how grievously it had been injured. At the outbreak of the Great Rebellion Arundel Castle fell into the hands of the Parliamentary forces, but surrendered to Lord Hopton in 1643. It did not, however, remain long in the possession of the Royalists, being retaken within two months, after a siege of seventeen days, by Sir William Waller, when a thousand prisoners were made by the victorious party. The castle was then plundered and partly destroyed, and great ravages committed in the ancient and beautiful church of Saint Nicholas, contiguous to it. At the time of our story it was occupied as a garrison by the Parliamentary troops, the command of the castle, with the title of governor, having been very recently accorded to Colonel Morley, a Republican officer of great strictness and severity. Though the interior of the ancient and stately fabric was mutilated and destroyed, though the carved tombs and monuments, stone pulpit, arches, altars, delicate tracery, and exquisite architectural ornaments of the church were defaced, though much of the fine timber growing near the fortress was remorselessly hewn down, the defences of the castle were still maintained, and it was even then looked upon as a place of considerable strength.
“I was with Lord Hopton when he took yon fortress in ‘43,” observed Colonel Gunter to the king. “The rascals surrendered on the first summons, and saved us the trouble of a siege. But it cost Waller seventeen days of good hard work to get it back again. The rogues have done as much mischief as they can both to castle and church. We must, perforce, pass through the town, as we shall to cross the Arun by the bridge.”
Charles made no objection, and the party rode on until they reached the hill on which the proud fortress is planted. They were mounting the ascent somewhat leisurely, when the merry notes of a hunting-horn greeted their ears, and the next moment a company of wellnigh a dozen horsemen, with a pack of hounds, appeared at the top of the hill. From the buff coats, boots, and other habiliments worn by these horsemen, it was evident that they were troopers from the castle going forth to indulge in the pastime of hunting, but though for the convenience of the chase they had laid aside their swords, carabines, and heavy steel accoutrements, they had still bandoleers over their shoulders, and pistols in their holsters. In this troop one person was a little in advance of the others, and it was evident from the superiority of his attire, as well as from the deference shown him, that he was higher in station than his companions. The individual in question was no other than the newly-appointed governor of Arundel Castle. Colonel Morley was a tall, raw-boned personage, with broad cheeks and flat nose, and the truculence of his looks was not diminished by a long pair of starched moustaches, which projected, like the whiskers of a tiger, from his face. Colonel Gunter instantly recognised him, and informing the king who was coming towards them, asked if his Majesty preferred to turn aside?
“On no account,” replied Charles. “That would excite instant suspicion. Colonel Morley has seen us. Go boldly on.”
The two parties now rapidly approached each other. The Royalists displayed great nerve, and did not flinch from the encounter. Colonel Morley eyed the troop advancing towards him sharply and suspiciously. He allowed them to approach quite close without question, but just as they were about to pass he called out to them, in an authoritative tone, to stay.
“Who are ye?” he demanded. “And whither go ye?”
“We are from Chichester, worshipful sir, of which city I am mayor,” replied Colonel Gunter, “on our way to Steyning, to attend the marriage of a cousin of mine, a very comely damsel, who is to be wedded this day to an elder of that town.”
The governor took little notice of the reply, but looking fixedly at the king, said:
“Who art thou, friend? Thy face seems familiar to me.”
“Very like it may be, worshipful sir, if you have ever visited Chichester,” replied Charles, without betraying the slightest confusion. “I am an alderman and maltster of the city, by name William Jackson. You have heard of me, I doubt not?”
“I cannot say that I have, but then I have recently arrived here,” replied the governor of the castle, to whom the answers appeared satisfactory. “Pass on your way, Mr. Mayor, and you, good master alderman, and take my best wishes for the happiness of the bride, especially if she be as comely as ye represent her. And harkye, one of my men shall go with you, and see you safely through the town, or, peradventure, ye may be hindered. Go with them, Corporal Gird-the- Loins Grimbald.”
The pretended mayor of Chichester thanked the governor of Arundel Castle for his courtesy, after which the Royalist party, attended by Corporal Grimbald, a very gri
m-looking corporal indeed, set off in one direction, while Colonel Morley, winding his horn to call the hounds together, rode off in another, followed by the troopers. The royal party soon afterwards entered Arundel, and it was fortunate that they had the grim-visaged corporal with them, for the town proved to be full of soldiers. Many of these glanced inquisitively at the travellers, but, seeing Grimbald, concluded all must be right. A nearer inspection of the castle showed the extent of the damage done to it by the Parliamentary soldiers. Sentinels fully accoutred, and armed with carabines, were posted at the gates of the fortress, and within the base-court could be seen other men drawn up, and going through their exercise. Our party, however, pushed on, and made for the bridge, where Corporal Gird-the-Loins Grimbald quitted them.
CHAPTER IV.
The Blacksmith Of Angmering
HAVING crossed the narrow but rushing Arun, the travellers now pursued their way along a winding lane, bordered in many places by fine trees, and enjoying glimpses of delicious woodland scenery. As they approached Angmering, it was discovered that the king’s horse had lost a shoe. At first, it was feared that the loss could not be remedied at any place nearer than Steyning, but luckily a little smithy was found on the skirts of Angmering Park, while a small wayside inn, very pleasantly situated in the midst of some fine elm trees, offered them the refreshment they so much needed, both for themselves and their steeds. Since quitting Stanstead Forest they had now ridden upwards of twenty miles, the king and those with him having previously ridden ten miles from Hambledon. All the party were as hungry as hunters. Charles declared he felt absolutely voracious, and directed Colonel Gunter to order the best breakfast that could be provided at the little inn, while he himself got his horse shod.
The blacksmith, a shrewd-looking fellow, lifted up the horse’s feet deliberately, and then, with rather a singular look, remarked,
“Why, master, how comes this? Your horse has but three shoes left, and all three were put on in different counties; and one in Worcestershire.”
“You are right, friend,” replied Charles, laughing. “This horse was ridden at the fight at Worcester. I bought him from a disbanded Cavalier.”
“Well, he shall have an honest Roundhead shoe this time, I can promise you, master,” cried the blacksmith, plying his bellows, and soon afterwards placing a glowing shoe on the anvil. “I should like to belabour all Royalists in this fashion,” he added, as he struck the heated iron.
“What! would you serve Charles Stuart himself so?” demanded Charles.
“Ay, marry, him worse than any other,” replied the blacksmith, with a blow that made the anvil ring. “I heard say at Arundel that the Young Man has been taken, and I hope it be true.”
“Well, one thing is quite certain, thou wouldst never lend him a hand to escape,” observed Charles.
“No, nor a shoe, nor a nail,” replied the smith. “I’d lame his horse, if he brought him to me.”
“Well, don’t lame mine, friend, I prithee,” said Charles. “Take him to the stable, and see him well fed when thou hast done. I must in to breakfast.”
The blacksmith promising compliance, Charles entered the little inn, where he found his companions seated at a table, with a goodly loaf of bread, a half- consumed cheese, and a lump of butter before them, together with two capacious jugs filled with ale, and drinking-horns. They did not rise, of course, on his Majesty’s appearance, but he took the place reserved for him between Clavering and Lord Wilmot. Charles was scarcely seated when a large dish of fried ham and eggs was placed upon the table by a comely-looking damsel. A second supply was ordered to be prepared, and the king and his hungry followers did ample justice to the repast.
Having pretty nearly cleared the board and quite emptied both jugs of their contents, the party arose, and called for the reckoning, which was moderate enough, as may be supposed. Colonel Gunter defrayed it, while the others went forth to look after their steeds. The blacksmith had charge of the king’s horse, and in return for the half-crown which Charles bestowed upon him, wished the young monarch a prosperous journey, adding,
“And that’s more than I would wish Charles Stuart. But talking of the Young Man, master, what manner of man is he?”
“A marvellous proper man,” replied the king; “about” a foot taller than myself, very broad across the shoulders, fair-haired—”
“Nay, that can’t be!” exclaimed the blacksmith, “for I have heard tell that he is as dark as a gipsy. I should say he was more like your honour.”
“How now, sirrah! hast thou the impudence to tell me to my face that I am like Charles Stuart?” cried the king, with affected wrath. “I have half a mind to chastise thee.”
“Nay, I meant no offence,” replied the smith. “The devil, they say, is not so black as he’s painted, and a man may be swart as a gipsy and yet handsome for all that. Handsome is that handsome does, and your honour having paid me handsomely, I wish you a prosperous journey. Good luck attend you wherever you go!” So saying, he retired into his smithy.
By this time all the party having mounted, they again set forth on their way.
CHAPTER V.
The Patriarch Of The Downs
ANGMERING PARK, through a portion of which the royal party now rode, possessed many points of great beauty, and boasted much noble timber. In especial, there was a fine grove of oaks, old as the Druids, and tenanted at that time by a colony of herons; the birds, or their progeny, having since migrated to Parham. Charles cast a passing glance at the long-legged, long-necked birds congregated on the higher branches of the trees, and listened for a moment to their harsh cries. Quitting Angmering Park, and approaching Clapham Wood through a beautiful sylvan district, the party now obtained a fine view of Highdown Hill, on the summit of which, in later years, has been placed the Miller’s Tomb.
From ClaphamWood the travellers made their way towards Findon, proceeding along the valley at the base of Cissbury Hill, a noble down, boasting, like so many of its neighbouring eminences, a large encampment, and commanding extensive views both of sea and land. Mounting the western slope of down in order to enjoy the prospect, the troop presently came to some circular hollows similar to those which they had previously passed at Stoke Down.
In one of these cavities a little hut had been constructed. On a wooden bench in front of the lowly habitation sat a venerable figure, which irresistibly attracted the king’s attention, and arrested his progress. The personage seemed to be of an age almost patriarchal, to judge from his hoary locks and long silvery beard. Originally, he must have been of lofty stature, but his frame was bent by the weight of years, and his limbs shrunken. His head was uncovered, and his brow and features ploughed deeply with wrinkles. His garb was that of a common shepherd of the downs. At his feet lay a dog, whose appearance was almost as antiquated as that of his master. On the bench near this patriarch of the hills sat a little girl, who was reading the Bible to him.
Perceiving from the king’s looks that he desired to know something concerning this venerable personage, Colonel Gunter informed his Majesty that the name of the shepherd was Oswald Barcombe. He was what in popular parlance was called a “wise man,” and had had plenty of time to acquire wisdom, for his life had extended far beyond the limits ordinarily allotted to man. For some time — almost beyond the memory of the existing generation — he had inhabited that hollow, and had scooped out a cave in the chalk, with which the hut communicated.
These particulars, combined with the old shepherd’s venerable and patriarchal appearance, interested Charles so much that he alighted, and committing his horse to Clavering, advanced alone towards the cavity in the midst of which the old man was seated. Perceiving the stranger approach, the little girl left off reading, and pulled the old man by the sleeve to make him aware that some one was at hand. Thus admonished, the patriarch raised his head, and fixed his dim, almost sightless orbs on the king.
“Who art thou that seekest the dwelling of old Oswald Barcombe?” he demanded.
“Thou shalt have my blessing and welcome, my son,” replied the venerable shepherd; “and I trust it may profit thee.”
“Tell me thy age, I prithee, father?” said the king. “Thou must have seen many years.”
“Many, many years, my son. A hundred and ten, as far as I can reckon. It may be a year more, or a year less, for I have wellnigh lost the count. Many changes have I seen as well as years. When I was a lad, bluff Harry the Eighth ruled the land, and I lived through the reigns of all his children. They were a royal race, those Tudors. The Stuarts came next, and I saw them both out, father and son, though good King Charles might have been on the throne now, if his enemies had not done him to death.”
“Thou sayest truly, old man,” replied Charles. “’Twas a deed of which a terrible account will be required of the parricides hereafter, should they even escape earthly punishment. But I honour thee for thy courage, old friend. Few men there are — whatever their secret sentiments may be — bold enough, now-a-days, to couple the epithet ‘good’ with the name of Charles the First.”
“But Charles the First was a good king, and I will maintain it,” replied Oswald. “I am too old to be a Republican. Go into the cave, my child, and tarry there till I call thee forth. I have a word to say in private to this stranger.”