“I will gladly obey your highness’s behest,” replied Standish, bowing.
“I have more to say,” pursued the prince. “When I set out from Lathom to besiege this place, I told her ladyship, when my work was done, I would return and feast with her. I shall not forget my promise. She may expect me to- morrow.”
“The countess will be enchanted,” said the earl. “But suitable preparation can scarce be made for your highness by to-morrow.”
“No preparation need be made for me,” said the prince, “My cousin’s welcome will suffice.”
Well knowing the prince’s humour, Lord Derby said no more on the subject, but bade Standish prepare for instant departure; and Prince Rupert enjoined him to take a strong guard lest he should be robbed of the colours.
“Take the party of dragoons you have just brought back with you from the pursuit of Rigby,” said the prince.
Proud of his errand, yet fearful of losing the flags, which he committed to the care of the stoutest men in the troop, Standish departed.
After the dreadful scenes he had recently wit-nessed, and knew were still being enacted in the town, he was not sorry to leave Bolton behind.
Speeding across the moor he soon reached Lostock, and found the place abandoned.
From Lostock Standish took his way across the country to Haigh, and thence to Wrightington, and he was close upon Newburgh, when he saw a horseman coming towards him, whom even at a distance he recognised as Rosworm.
On seeing the party of dragoons, Rosworm would have galloped off, but a shout from Standish checked him, and he waited tranquilly till the young man came up. A brief colloquy then took place between them — being so conducted that it could not be overheard by the troopers, who had likewise halted.
“I can give you a good account of your friends,” said Rosworm. “I have just left them at Lathom House. The journey there was not difficult, since I was fortunately able to procure horses for them at Great Lever.”
“Why did you not remain at Lathom as I advised?” asked Standish.
“I had reasons for not doing so,” replied Ros-worm. “I am now going to Wigan. But what has happened to Bolton?”
“Bolton has fallen,” replied Standish. “Hundreds have been slain, but Rigby has escaped to Bury.”
“Lathom has proved unlucky to him in every way,” observed Rosworm. “He gained nothing during the siege, and now he has lost all at Bolton.”
“I should have been satisfied if we had slain him,” said Standish. “But he lives to do us more mischief.”
“Not much, I think,” said Rosworm. “But I must be gone. Night is at hand. Farewell for ever! It is not likely we shall meet again.”
“Wherefore not?” demanded Standish.
“I shall leave this country,” replied Rosworm. “I am sick of the war.”
“If you had seen Bolton to-day you would have had enough of it,” observed Standish, in a sombre voice.
“I am glad I had left before the second assault began,” said Rosworm. “But I have another reason for leaving this country. My daughter has warned me to return to my native land. I have seen her twice.”
“You fancy so.”
“I am sure of it. I shall obey. Again, farewell!”
No more passed between them.
Rosworm rode off, and Standish proceeded to Lathom House, which was not much more than a mile distant.
CHAPTER VII
How the Colours taken at Bolton were presented to the Countess
NEWS had reached the countess and the officers of the garrison that Prince Rupert and the earl had been repulsed, and though they did not credit the rumour, it caused them great uneasiness.
Their delight may therefore be imagined when Standish arrived and announced that Bolton had been taken on the second assault.
But when the dragoons rode into the court carrying the colours of the enemy — colours they instantly recognised — their enthusiasm knew no bounds.
The good news was instantly conveyed to the countess by Major Farrington, who told her that Bolton had been taken, and that both Prince Rupert and Lord Derby were unhurt.
For once the heroic lady’s firmness forsook her. She who had so often faced danger unmoved, and had borne so many trials with unshaken constancy, now felt ready to sink. But by a great effort she regained her self-possession, and observed to Major Farrington:
“You say Captain Standish has brought this good news. Why does he not come to me himself?”
“He brings your ladyship a present from Prince Rupert, and desires to deliver it to you before the garrison.”
On hearing this the countess immediately went forth, accompanied by her daughters, by her chaplains, and by Don Fortunio and Engracia.
At the entrance of the mansion stood all her officers ready to attend her. The court-yard was thronged with the soldiers of the garrison, who had hastily assembled to witness a scene of the deepest interest to them. In front of the musketeers were the dragoons who had just arrived. The latter were still on horseback, and each man in the foremost line carried a flag.
Standish had dismounted, and was stationed a few yards in advance of the troop.
Greatly touched by this spectacle, the countess marched on till she came within a short distance of the dragoons, and then stood still, while Standish with his drawn sword in his hand, advanced to meet her and made a profound obeisance.
Speaking in a loud voice that all might hear, he said:
“It will rejoice you to learn, madam, and it will rejoice your brave soldiers to hear, that Bolton has been taken after a sharp conflict, and all the garrison put to the sword. A great victory has thus been gained over the rebels, and a blow dealt them from which they will not speedily recover.”
Here he was interrupted for a few moments by the shouts of the soldiers, after which he went on.
“My lord, though first to enter the gate, and exposed to the sharpest fire, is happily unhurt, and charges me to inform your ladyship that he will return to Lathom to-morrow, and bring his highness Prince Rupert with him.”
“They will be right welcome to us all,” said the countess.
Loud shouts again resounded. But Standish had not yet finished.
“I am commanded by Prince Rupert,” he said, “to present to your ladyship these colours, which have just been taken from the enemy.”
Meanwhile all the flags having been collected by a couple of dragoons, who had dismounted for the purpose, were laid at the countess’s feet.
Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazed as she regarded them.
“At last these colours are ours,” she cried, taking one from the heap, and waving it triumphantly to the shouting soldiers.
There was great rejoicing that night in Lathom House, and the countess promised the soldiers that their cups should again be filled with ale on the morrow.
Standish had little private converse with Engracia, but he thought she looked sad. He fancied the captivity at Bolton had made a painful impression on her, and told her so; but she said he was mistaken.
“These occurrences have troubled my father more than me,” she said. “He is resolved to return to Spain immediately.”
“And take you with him?”
“Of course. He cannot leave me behind. I fear we shall be obliged to part, unless you will come with us to Spain.”
“I have already told you I cannot forsake my own country at this juncture,” he rejoined. “I must go where my lord leads me. He has more towns to assault — more battles to fight.”
“Then you will certainly be killed. Now in Spain you might live tranquilly.”
“I will go there when this campaign is ended.”
“But will it end? Never! My father is quite tired out, and to speak truth so am I. I shall grieve to quit the countess and her daughters, who have been so kind to me — but I must go.”
“Perhaps you may change your mind.”
“I do not think I shall — but even if I did, my father won’
t stay. He intends to go to Liverpool.”
“But Liverpool is in the hands of the rebels.”
“Then he will go elsewhere, and try to find a vessel bound for Spain. He means to consult the Earl of Derby on the subject.”
“At first I thought you were jesting with me,” said Standish. “But I begin to fear you are quite serious.”
“My father is, and therefore I must obey.”
“But you can persuade him to remain, if you choose.”
“No — he won’t listen to me. Colonel Rosworm has alarmed him, by telling him the king is certain to be defeated, and he is all anxiety to be gone.”
At this juncture, Don Fortunio himself came up.
“Papa,” she said, “I have just been acquainting Captain Standish with your determination to leave England.”
“Not immediately, I hope?” said the young man.
“Yes, immediately,” replied Don Fortunio. “I long to get back to Spain. If you like this constant fighting, I don’t. Besides, I have very grave apprehensions for the future. Is it treasonable to say you will not long have a king in England? Such is my conviction.”
“You are wrong, sir,” said Standish. “These rebels will be crushed. We have begun the work to-day, and shall not stop till it is ended.”
“I fear you will find it a harder task than you imagine,” said Don Fortunio.
“Hear what the Earl of Derby has to say,” rejoined Standish.
“If he will allow the countess and his children to remain here, I will postpone my departure,” said Don Fortunio. “Not otherwise.”
CHAPTER VIII
Again on the Eagle Tower
BRIGHT and sunshiny was the day, and Lathom House had an air of cheerfulness such as it had not worn for months.
Above the Eagle Tower floated the broad banner that had never been lowered during the siege — meet emblem of the heroic lady who had placed it there. The tower itself bore marks of the enemy’s shot, but still rose proudly and firmly as ever. The castle walls, however, were terribly battered. Huge pieces had been knocked out of the masonry, deep holes made by shot, battlements and turrets broken — but not a single enemy had set foot on the ramparts during the long duration of the Leaguer.
But it was beyond the fosse, and in the enemy’s own works, that the evidences of destruction were most apparent. In those partly demolished batteries and half-filled trenches could be seen the tremendous preparations made, and how useless they had proved. The exulting musketeers laughed and jested as they looked at them from the walls, and talked over their own exploits. “There stood the sconce that held the great mortar that was to crush us all,” said one. “Where is that bulwark now? Lathom House still stands — but the beleaguering army is gone.”
“Utterly destroyed,” observed another. “But we have got their cannon, their mortar, and their colours.”
It was not surprising that the soldiers engaged in that long siege should rejoice. Their courage had never failed them, but they might have been forced by famine to surrender — or have perished in the burning stronghold fired by the hand of the countess. All this was over now, and they felt as men feel when a great task — almost beyond their powers — is accomplished. They had done their duty, and done it well. To their thinking no pleasanter sight could be seen on that bright morning than was afforded by those half-demolished batteries.
To the brave officers who had assisted in the defence of the castle, who had shrunk from no danger, but were always ready to sally forth upon the enemy — the sight was equally agreeable, as the ruined fortifications bore testimony to their valour.
But all within the fortress rejoiced on that auspicious morning — the countess herself, her children, her chaplains, her guests, her household. Never for a moment had the heroic lady shrunk from the difficult task she had undertaken. Never at seasons of the greatest peril — when ponderous shot and stones had been cast upon her roofs, and fiery missiles and death-scattering shells had been thrown into her courts — not even when a leaden messenger of destruction had burst into her own chamber, had her stout heart failed her. Never doubting the justice of her cause, but relying entirely on Heaven’s protection, she had awaited with confidence the issue of the long struggle.
At length, her loyalty and devotion to the royal cause were amply rewarded. Deliverance came — the insolent rebels were punished.
Such were the heroic lady’s feelings on that morning — feelings that prompted her to return thanks to Heaven for its mercies and protection.
Two persons were on the summit of the Eagle Tower gazing around.
One of them, a lovely damsel, with dark lustrous eyes and a Southern skin, was listening with deep interest to her companion who was describing some of the principal incidents of the siege, and pointing out the localities to her.
“How enchanted you must be that the siege is over!” she exclaimed, as he concluded his narration.
“Yes, but there was great excitement about it,” replied Standish. “A nocturnal sortie, such as I have just described, is quite a pleasant pastime. We kept the besiegers in a constant state of alarm.”
“But suppose you had been unsuccessful. Suppose the enemy had driven you back, or captured you.”
“I cannot suppose an impossibility. The enemy never did drive us back. In every conflict we had with them they got the worst of it. Good fortune always attended us. We rarely lost a man, but generally left twenty killed behind us, and sometimes brought away prisoners. Now you must own that a sortie is exciting.”
“When I look at those dreadful trenches, I wonder you ever got across them.”
“The trenches were the worst part of it,” observed Standish; “and I wonder I did not find a grave in them. But happily the siege is over, and since most of us are unhurt, we can afford to laugh at its perils. Have you seen enough? Will you descend?”
“Stay a moment,” cried Engracia. “I have something to say to you, and here it ought to be said. You have fought well in those entrenchments and have escaped with life, but you may not be always equally lucky. If you are wise you will play no more at this hazardous game of war—”
“But I cannot retire, unless with my lord’s consent,” he interrupted. “If he would dispense with my services, I would accompany you to Spain.”
“Ask him to free you from your engagement, and I am certain he will do it,” she said.
“I know not that,” he replied. “He has need of faithful followers. I do not think he will be willing to part with me; and unless he consents, I cannot go.”
“But will you ask him?”
“I like not to do so, fearing a refusal.”
“He cannot refuse you after what you have done.”
“I have some claim upon him certainly—”
“You have the strongest claim upon his gratitude. Without you, Lathom House might not have been held. By the frequent successful sorties you have made, you contributed materially to its defence, as the countess will be first to acknowledge. Lord Derby can refuse you nothing, I repeat. But you desire military renown, and will remain under his command.”
“Only for a time.”
“But long enough to lose me. If we part now, we shall never meet again. Will you come with us to Spain?”
“I dare not promise till I have spoken with my lord.”
“Ah! I understand,” she cried. “You prefer glory to me.”
“No, by Heaven!” he exclaimed. “I should be far happier with you in Spain than fighting here.”
“If you really think so, come with me,” she said; “and leave this dreadful Civil War to be fought out by those who like it. Now let us go down.”
And they left the Eagle Tower.
CHAPTER IX
How Prince Rupert visited Lathom House
EARLY in the morning the countess had received a letter from her lord, in which he told her she might expect him and Prince Rupert about noon; adding that the prince would only have a small guard with him, as the whole of
the forces on quitting Bolton would march to besiege Liverpool, and halt at Knowsley and Prescot, where his highness proposed to join them.
This intelligence being immediately communicated to Major Farrington, he gave all necessary orders, and long before the hour appointed, everything was in readiness for the reception of the earl and his illustrious guest.
The weather was splendid, and the brilliant sunshine heightened the effect of the scene. The old mansion looked its best, for the damage it had sustained could scarcely be perceived. Every soldier in the garrison was on the alert. Cheery voices were heard on all sides, and the aspect of the men was very different from what it had been.
As the musketeers gathered on the ramparts, or on the towers of the gateway, they had a blithe look that bespoke utter absence of anxiety.
The court-yard itself presented a curious picture. Besides being crowded with soldiers, it contained several large pieces of ordnance taken from the enemy, conspicuous among them being the great mortar.
Officers and men, and all within the castle, were eager to welcome their victorious lord and the prince, but some delay occurred that had not been anticipated.
Noon arrived, but no signal came from the sentinel on the Eagle Tower to announce that the party was in sight. Another quarter of an hour elapsed, and it was still the same.
As time went on the men grew impatient, and the countess herself began to feel uneasy, and spoke to Standish, who instantly volunteered to ride forth and ascertain, if he could, the cause of the delay.
Just then, however, a joyous shout was heard without, announcing that the party could be descried.
An extraordinary agitation then pervaded the entire garrison, and it continued till the bruit of trumpets proclaimed the approach of Lord Derby and the prince.
A response was instantly given from the towers and battlements of the gateway, and amid the thunder of artillery, that drowned the shouts of the soldiers, the prince and the earl rode into the court.
They were preceded by a troop of lancers, and followed by a dozen Cavaliers, whose accoutrements were almost as superb as those of Rupert himself, and who were equally well mounted. These formed the prince’s guard of honour. Behind them came another troop of lancers.
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