The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Those confounded Parliamentarians can fight, it must be owned,” remarked one of the listeners. “But what were the stratagems you spoke of just now, Vosper?”

  “You shall hear, Simon Terret,” replied the other. “But first give me a cup of sack to drink the king’s health, and confusion to all rebels. From what I am about to relate you will perceive that the conflict on Pitchcroft was part of a cleverly-devised scheme, that ought to have succeeded better than it did. Prince Rupert having ascertained from his scouts that Lord Say had taken a detachment of a thousand men to Powick, while another equally large detachment had been taken by Colonel Fynes to Perry Wood — the object of the two Republican commanders being to surround the prince, as his highness perfectly understood — he endeavoured to out-manœuvre them. With this design a clever spy was sent to Powick, who represented himself as a servant to the Earl of Essex, and stated, with an air of great plausibility, that Cromwell had entered Worcester — and that, if Lord Say advanced immediately, the retreat of the Royalists would infallibly be cut off. Duped by the man’s apparent sincerity, Lord Say acted on the advice, and fell into an ambuscade that cost him five-and-twenty men. Colonel Fynes was imposed on in much the same manner. A messenger galloped up to Perry Wood and informed him that Prince Rupert was advancing with ten thousand men, whereupon he fell back four miles. But he found out the stratagem rather too soon. It was his force that subsequently alarmed Prince Rupert and caused his highness to retreat into the city. Had not this discovery occurred, the prince would have beaten the enemy in detail.”

  “I think I have heard that those two clever spies were hanged,” remarked Terret.

  “Ay marry, were they,” replied Vosper. “They were hanged with several other good citizens and staunch Royalists on a gallows as high as Haman’s, which was set up in the market-place by Old Noll.”

  “Would Old Noll were hanged on a like gallows!” cried several voices.

  “The Jus Furcarum was an enviable privilege,” remarked one of the circle. “If I possessed the right, as did the old priors of St. Mary, I would hang every Roundhead rogue of them all.”

  “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the others.

  “Ah! never shall I forget the barbarities practised by Essex’s soldiers when they took the city,” observed Vosper. “Heaven preserve us from a repetition of such dreadful usage. But all these severities did not check the loyal spirit of the citizens. You recollect the second siege in 1646, Trubshaw,” he observed to another person near him, “when Worcester was invested by Sir William Brereton and Colonel Birch?”

  “Ay, Colonel Henry Washington was governor at the time,” replied Trubshaw— “as brave a man as ever drew sword, and as loyal. Several skirmishes occurred outside the walls, but there was an affair at St. John’s in which I, myself, took part. The Parliamentary generals had blockaded the city on that side, lining the approaches to St. John’s with musketeers, and quartering a large force behind the tower. Determined to dislodge them, Governor Washington sallied forth one night with a couple of hundred horse, of whom I myself was one, and five hundred foot. Tybridge-street, which you know leads to the bridge from St. John’s, was strongly barricaded by the enemy, but we drove back their advanced guard to Cripplegate, where being reinforced by horse and foot, they made a stand, but they could not resist our brave commander, who attacked them with such vigour that he quickly routed them, and would have put them all to the sword if they had not sought refuge in the church. We set fire to the houses in Cripplegate, so they could no longer find shelter there. In this sortie we killed a hundred of the enemy, and took ten prisoners. Our own loss was trifling. Governor Washington gained much credit by the achievement.”

  “Not more than he deserved,” remarked another of the interlocutors named Barkesdale. “Governor Washington was a man of undaunted resolution, as his answer shows, when he was summoned to surrender the city. ‘It may be easy,’ he wrote to General Fairfax, ‘for your excellency to procure his majesty’s commands for the disposal of this garrison. Till then I shall make good the trust reposed in me. As for conditions, if necessitated, I shall make the best I can. The worst I know, and fear not.’”

  “A brave answer!” cried Vosper. “Did you know Captain Hodgkins? ‘Wicked Will,’ as he was called by the Roundheads?”

  “Know him! ay,” rejoined Barkesdale. “Captain Hodgkins drank deeper, and fought harder, than any Cavalier of his day. One night, after he had emptied half a dozen flasks of claret, he crossed the bridge with a small band of boon companions, surprised the enemy’s guard at Cripplegate, drove them back as far as the Bull Ring, which you know is close to St. John’s, and put several of them to the sword. In returning, he fell from his horse in Tybridge-street, and not being able to walk, was tossed into a boat and rowed across the Severn. In another sally, being somewhat more sober, he brought back seven prisoners.”

  “Seven prisoners! ha! ha!” laughed the whole circle.

  “’Tis a pity he did not die a soldier’s death,” observed Trubshaw. “His body was found in the Severn below the city, near Bunshill. Whether he was accidentally drowned, or thrown into the river, is uncertain.”

  “Wicked Will’s death was a judgment,” observed a deep voice behind them.

  Trubshaw and some others turned at the remark, and perceived a tall, thin man, moving away in the direction of the river. Hitherto this person had eluded observation as he had been standing among the horses.

  “A spy has been amongst us! — a Roundhead!” cried Vosper, springing to his feet.

  “Seize the rogue and make him give an account of himself,” cried Trubshaw, likewise starting up. “What ho! stand!” he shouted.

  The spy paid no heed to the summons, but speeded towards the river. The Scottish sentries were too far off to challenge him, and did not fire.

  Vosper and Trubshaw started in pursuit. But the spy reached the river before them, and jumped into a boat, which he had doubtless moored to the bank.

  When his pursuers came up he was pulling vigorously across the stream. A pistol was fired at him by Vosper, but without effect.

  With a mocking laugh he then altered his course, and rowing down the stream, soon disappeared beneath one of the narrow arches of the bridge.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XI.

  COLONEL ROSCARROCK RELATES NOW THE EARL OF DERBY WAS ROUTED AT WIGAN.

  Ill news came to Charles on the morrow.

  He was in his cabinet with his secretary, Captain Fanshaw, when Careless entered and informed him that Colonel Roscarrock was without.

  “Roscarrock!” exclaimed the king, struck by Careless’s looks. “What news brings he from the Earl of Derby?”

  “Ask me not, I beseech you, my liege,” rejoined Careless, sadly. “The colonel will tell his own tale. I grieve to say he is wounded.”

  Comprehending at once what had occurred, Charles merely said, “Bring in Colonel Roscarrock.”

  And as the aide-de-camp departed, he arose and paced the cabinet with anxious steps, trying to summon his firmness for the painful interview.

  Presently Careless returned supporting the colonel, whose left arm was in a sling.

  Roscarrock was a tall, soldier-like, handsome man, but loss of blood and excessive fatigue gave a haggard expression to his features. The dusty state of his apparel and boots showed that he had ridden far.

  “Alas, sire, I bring you bad news!” he exclaimed, in dolorous accents.

  “Be seated, colonel, and I will hear you,” said Charles, aiding him to a chair. “We have sustained a defeat, I perceive, but ere you enter into details, relieve my anxiety respecting the Earl of Derby.”

  “His lordship is sore hurt,” replied Roscarrock, “but he is in safety, and will be with your majesty ere many days.”

  “Thank Heaven for that!” exclaimed Charles, earnestly.

  “You have lost many loyal subjects and brave soldiers, sire,” pursued Roscarrock. “Lord Widdrington is mortally wounded, if not dead. Sir William Thr
ockmorton cannot survive. Sir Thomas Tildesley, Colonel Boynton, Colonel Trollope, and Colonel Galliard are slain.”

  “Alas! brave Widdrington! Alas! brave Tildesley! have I lost you?” ejaculated Charles, mournfully. “Where did this dire disaster occur?”

  “At Wigan, in Lancashire, my liege,” returned Roscarrock. “At first, everything promised success. As your majesty’s lieutenant, the Earl of Derby had issued his warrant commanding all your loyal subjects to meet him in arms at Preston, and he had collected six hundred horse and about nine hundred foot. With this force he marched to Wigan, with the design of proceeding to Manchester, where he not only hoped to surprise Cromwell’s regiment of infantry but expected to obtain five hundred recruits. I need not tell your majesty that I was with his lordship. In a lane near the town we encountered Colonel Lilburn with a regiment of horse. Our men shouted loudly as we dashed upon the enemy, and fought so well that they drove Lilburn to the end of the lane. But a reserve of horse coming up changed the fortune of the day. What could our raw recruits do against Lilburn’s veterans? Owing to the earl’s reckless daring, he was wounded early in the conflict, which lasted upwards of an hour. How can I relate the disastrous issue? Suffice it, the rout was total. Our men were panic-stricken, and could not be rallied. Hundreds were slain in flight. Pursued by a party of horse, the earl dashed into Wigan, and turned into a narrow street. Observing an open door, he flung himself from his steed and entered the house. A woman recognised him, and barred the door, enabling him to escape through a garden at the back before the Roundheads could search the house. By a miracle almost the noble fugitive got out of the town, which was filled with Parliamentary soldiers, and shaped his course towards the south. I was proceeding slowly in the same direction, when Providence — for I like not to call it chance — brought us together near Newport. At the house of a Royalist gentleman named Watson, we met another true man, Mr. Snead, who volunteered to conduct us to a lonely house called Boscobel, standing on the borders of two counties — Shropshire and Staffordshire — where we could remain safely hidden till our wounds were healed. We gladly accepted the offer. I rested one night at Boscobel, when feeling able to proceed to Worcester, I came on. Lord Derby was too weak to accompany me, but bade me say that your majesty may count on seeing him in a few days.”

  “I thought to see him with two thousand men at his back,” exclaimed Charles, in a melancholy and somewhat despondent tone. “But the hope ought never to have been indulged. Treat it as we may, Roscarrock, this defeat at Wigan is a heavy blow to our cause. ‘Twill encourage the enemy, and dishearten our own troops. Lilburn will join Cromwell.”

  “He has already joined him, sire, with his regiment of horse,” remarked Roscarrock. “I should have been here before, had I not experienced much difficulty in getting nigh Worcester, owing to the enemy’s numerous outposts. Would I had a sword like Widdrington’s, and an arm like his to wield it!” he continued, with a grim smile. “Widdrington cut down half a dozen dragoons ere he was overpowered. In losing him your majesty has lost the tallest of your subjects, and the strongest.”

  “But not the bravest, while hardy Ned Roscarrock is left me,” said Charles. “But you need refreshment and rest, colonel, and you must have both, or you will never be able to fight for me, and I may call upon you to attack Lilburn again before long.”

  “Your majesty will find me ready, call on me when you will,” returned Roscarrock.

  With Careless’s assistance he then arose and withdrew, leaving the king alone with his secretary.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XII.

  HOW URSO GIVES WAS WEDDED TO MARY RUSHOUT.

  Amid his manifold distractions, Careless had not forgotten pretty Mary Rushout. Twice had he seen her at her grandmother’s dwelling in Angel-lane, but on the second occasion she prayed him with tears in her eyes never to come to the house again.

  “We must part,” she said; “and it would have been better if we had never met. Urso, you know, is exceedingly jealous, and keeps the strictest watch over me. He saw you enter the house last night, and waited outside till you departed.”

  “He must have waited long,” remarked Careless, smiling.

  “Ah! it’s no laughing matter, I can assure you,” cried Mary. “Urso is a terrible man. I won’t tell you how bitterly he reviled you, but he said you had better look to yourself if you came to Angel-lane again. I shouldn’t wonder if he is on the watch now. Ay, there he is of a surety,” she added, stepping towards the little lattice window, and peeping out into the lane.

  “Heed him not,” cried Careless, drawing her back. “I was going — but, to punish him, I’ll stay an hour longer.”

  “No, no — you mustn’t — indeed you mustn’t!” she exclaimed. “It will drive him frantic, and when he is in one of his rages, he is capable of killing me. You must go immediately.”

  “Impossible, sweetheart. I have much to say to you. Don’t trouble yourself about this jealous Roundhead. Leave me to deal with him. I’ll crop his ears still more closely to his head. Why don’t you give him up?”

  “Unluckily, I’ve plighted my troth to him, or I would.”

  “Never mind that, sweetheart. I’ll liberate you from your pledge.”

  “You graceless Cavaliers will swear anything, and care not for breaking your vows — that’s what Urso says.”

  “Truce to Urso. You will believe me, when I swear that I love you.”

  “No; because I find you do not regard an oath.”

  “Bah! promise to love me.”

  “No; because it would be sinful to make such a promise. Urso himself would say so.”

  “Urso again! — confound him! I must find means to free you from this tie — even if I sever it with my sword.”

  “That won’t make me love you — rather hate you. But you must really go. Pray do not quarrel with Urso.”

  “If he stops me, I shall assuredly chastise him. Adieu, sweetheart! Expect me at the same hour to-morrow?”

  “No, no — you must not come — indeed, you must not.”

  But she seemed so little in earnest, that Careless construed her prohibition in the opposite sense, and believed she wished him to come.

  As he went forth, Angel-lane — a narrow street running nearly parallel with the walls on the north of the city, in the direction of All Hallows — appeared quite deserted, and he thought that Urso Gives was gone. But he had scarcely reached the church, when a tall figure stepped from behind a buttress and barred his path.

  “Out of my way, fellow!” he cried, haughtily, feeling sure it was Urso.

  “Not till I have spoken with you,” rejoined the other, maintaining his ground.

  The Independent then continued, in a stern, menacing voice, “On the peril of your life, I forbid you to re-enter the house you have just profaned by your presence. You have beguiled the damsel who dwells there by your false speeches, and have sought to corrupt her. You cannot feign ignorance that she is my affianced wife, for I myself heard her tell you so.”

  “Since you have been playing the spy, you might easily have learnt that I am coming again to-morrow night at the same hour,” rejoined Careless, in a mocking tone.

  “Think it not,” rejoined Urso, fiercely. “Since you will not be deterred from your evil courses by the warning given you, look to yourself!”

  And suddenly drawing forth the long tuck-sword which he held under his cloak, he placed its point at the other’s breast.

  Careless sprang back and so saved his life, and drawing his own sword, their blades were instantly crossed.

  Notwithstanding his eminently peaceful vocation, Urso proved no contemptible swordsman, and Careless failed to disarm him as soon as he expected. The clash of steel roused the inmates of the houses, and some of them opened their doors, but when they perceived that an officer of rank was engaged with a Roundhead they did not interfere.

  Mary Rushout, however, came forth, screaming with terror, and reached the combatants just as Careless, havin
g knocked Urso’s weapon from his grasp, seized him by the throat, and forced him down upon his knees, exclaiming:

  “Sue for mercy, caitiff hound, or I will despatch thee!”

  “Spare him, gentle sir! — spare him!” cried Mary, seizing the Cavalier’s arm.

  “He owes his worthless life to your intercession, sweet Mary,” cried Careless, spurning Urso from him. “If he is not sufficiently grateful for the obligation, let me know, and I will sharpen his gratitude. Adieu, till to-morrow!”

  And sheathing his sword, he strode away.

  Quite crestfallen at his discomfiture, and eager to escape from the jeers of the neighbours who had come forth, Urso picked up his tuck-sword and hurried back to the house with Mary.

  What passed between them need not be recounted. It will be sufficient to state the result.

  Not till the second evening after the occurrence just described, did Careless return to Angel lane. His duties to the king had detained him in the interval.

  After tapping softly at the door of Mary’s dwelling, he raised the latch, but the door was fastened, and he was compelled to knock more loudly. Still, no answer to the summons. He listened intently, but not the slightest sound was to be heard within; neither was any light visible through the little lattice window.

  While he was making another ineffectual attempt to obtain admittance, a glover, who lived next door, came forth and told him that Dame Rushout and Mary were gone.

  “Gone! whither?” cried Careless.

  “That is more than I am able to inform your honour,” replied the glover; “but you are not likely to see Mary again, since Master Gives has taken her way.”

  “‘Sdeath! did she consent to go with him?”

  “She could not very well refuse, seeing that she has become his wife,” responded the glover.