CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.
AFTER ROUNDWAY DOWN.
An hundred horsemen riding at their hardest--not in any militaryformation, but strung out in a straggled ruck--horsemen steel-clad fromcrown to hip, some with helmets battered; others bare-headed, thehead-piece gone; cuirasses showing dints, as from stroke of halberd orthrust of pike; on back and breastplate blood splashes, dried and turnedpurple-black; boots, mud-bespattered and _delabre_--this damaged cohortall that remained of "William the Conqueror's" army!
They were the remnant of Hesselrig's Horse, the "Lobsters" in retreatfrom Roundway Down, where the chivalrous, but too reckless, tooconfident Waller, had given battle to the outnumbering enemy under Byronand Wilmot; been defeated, and put to utter rout.
It was the wind up of a series of sanguinary engagements with theMarquis of Hertford and Prince Maurice, commencing with an encounter onthe low-wooded bottom between Tog and Friznoll hills, so hotly contestedthat veterans there engaged, who had gone through all the Low Countryand German campaigns, declared the most furious fights they ever hadabroad were but sport to it.
Carried up to the adjacent height of Lansdown, from which, after anotherfierce conflict, the Parliamentarians were forced to retire, the twoarmies--what remained of them--again came face to face on the elevatedplateau of Roundway Down; the final scene of the struggle and Waller'sdiscomfiture.
Hesselrig's Cuirassiers had especially suffered. With ranks broken, andmany of them unhorsed, they were all but helpless in their unwieldyarmour, and scores got tumbled over the cliffs of the Down. Of awell-appointed regiment, over five hundred strong, which but a few daysbefore had filed out through the gates of Bristol, only this stragglingtroop--less than a fifth of the force, still kept the saddle.
Waller was himself along with it--for the "Lobsters" formed hisbody-guard--so too Hesselrig, severely wounded. Crestfallen both--itcould not be otherwise--but with no cowed or craven look. The bloodupon their gauntlets and sword-hilts, on their blades still unwiped,told both had been where cowards would not be--in the thick of thefight. Only to superior numbers had they yielded, and were now retiringsullenly as disabled lions. If they rode hard and fast it was throughthe urgency of their followers, who feared pursuit behind with thefiendish cry, "No Quarter!"
Morn was just dawning as the retreating troop caught sight of Bristol'stowers--glad to their eyes, giving promise of refuge and rest. Thislast they needed as much as the first. For days and nights they hadscarce ever been out of the saddle; looked wan for the want of sleep,and were weak from fatigue and hunger. Their horses blown anddead-beat, many of them staggering in their gait. No wonder the sightof that city was welcome to them.
But what a spectacle they themselves to those inside it, to thehundreds, nay thousands, who gazed off and out from turret, wall, andwindow! The first glimpse got of them was by the warder in the Castle'skeep, just as the brightening sky enabled him to descry objects at adistance. Then other sentries saw them from the watch towers of thegates on that side; and the signal of alarm ran along the line offortification, round and round. Soon bells rang, trumpets brayed, anddrums beat all over the city, startling the citizens out of their sleepand beds. Before the sun had yet shown above the horizon, not one butwas awake, and most out of doors. Men rushed wildly through thestreets--women too--or stood aperch, clustering on every eminence, everypinnacle and parapet thick as bees, with eager, anxious glances scanningthe country outside. At length to fix them on the long, glitteringline--for the sheen of the cuirasses were not all gone--that nowapproached in slow, laboured pace, as the crawl of a scotched snake.
When near enough for the bare heads and battered helmets to bedistinguished, the blood smouches on dress, arms, and accoutrements, thegloom on brows and in eyes, with lips compressed and features hard setas in sullen anger--when these sure insignia of disaster were fullybefore them, a feeling of despondency came over the hearts of theBristolians. Intensified, doubled, when at the head of this figment ofa force, crushed and shattered, they saw Sir William Waller, and by hisside Sir Arthur Hesselrig--the two leaders so long victorious as to bedeemed invincible! They had seen them ride out with an army numberingnigh 6,000 men, and now saw them returning, in retreat, with but a barehundred! These so down-looking and dispirited, that, as Wallerhimself--candid as he was brave--confessed in his report to the LordGeneral, "a corporal with an ordinary squadron could have routed them."
To many who witnessed their re-entry within Bristol's gates it was asmuch spectre as spectacle--the presentiment of misfortune forthemselves.
But not all viewed it in this light. There were eyes into which itbrought a sparkle of gratification; some even the glow of anticipatedvengeance. During Fiennes's iron rule, the "malignants" had been muchhumiliated, and the prospect of a change, themselves to have the upperhand, made them jubilant. And there were the relatives and friends ofthe so-called "State Martyrs," with the fate of these fresh in theirmind, burning for revenge. Citizens affected to the King's cause,Cavaliers, whether prisoners on parole or otherwise, the tapsters,gamesters, and tricksters of every speciality; in a word, all thereprobacy and blackguardism of Bristol, high and low, male and female,were gleeful at a sight giving them forecast of that for which they hadlong been yearning--an opportunity of pillage and plunder. It was justwith them, as it would be with their modern representatives the Jingoes,at any mischance to Liberalism, likely to give the Jew of Hughendenanother spell at despoiling and dishonouring England. For they, too,were doughty champions of beer and Bible, with whom national honour wasbut a name, the nation's glory an empty boast. They, as Tories now,cared not for the wrongs and sufferings of an over-taxed people, anymore than recks Arab slave-trader the tears and lamentations of the poorhuman beings with black skins he drives, brute-like, across the burningsands of Africa. For is not the whole history of Toryism, from itscommencement up to the latest chapter and verse, a record of sympathywith the wronger and unpitying regardlessness for the wronged--anexhibition of all the ferocity known to the human heart, with all itsfalsehood and meanness?
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By a coincidence in no way singular, but simply from two events chancingto occur at the same time, they were dancing at Montserrat House, whileWaller was riding in retreat from Roundway Down. Madame Lalande's ballwas on the night after the battle, July 13th.
It was about to break up, for day was dawning, and cheeks growing pale.Less than a month after mid-summer, the hour was not so much intomorning, and there were some tireless votaries of Terpsichore inclinedfor still another _contredanse_, by way of wind up. This came, however,in a manner more sudden and unexpected. First, the call notes of adistant bugle, taken up and responded to by others, till a very chorusof them sounded all over the city. Then a _tantara_ of drums, and thejangling of church bells, with the boom of a great gun from the Castle!
Too early for the _reveillee_--before the hour of _orisons_--what couldit all mean? So queried they in the grounds of Montserrat House,gathering into groups. Certainly, something unusual; as the fracas notonly continued but seemed growing greater. To the instrumental soundswere added human voices, shouting in the streets, calls and responses,with a hurried trampling of feet--men rushing to and fro!
Only for a short while were Madame Lalande's guests in suspense. Norhad they to go outside for explanation. There was an eminence in thegrounds which commanded a view of most part of Bristol, with the countrybeyond the fortified line, south-eastward. On its summit stood apavilion; the same which on that night had been the means of revealingmore than one secret. And now from this spot an anxious crowd--forscores had rushed up to it--learnt the cause of the excitement. Closein to the city's walls, about to enter one of the gates, was theshattered remnant of Hesselrig's Horse--all that was left of Waller'sdefeated army!
If the dresses of those who clustered round the pavilion--most in fancycostume--were diversified, varied also were the feelings wit
h which theyregarded this new spectacle presented to them. A surprise to all; tomany an unpleasant one, but most viewing it with delighted eyes. For,unlike as with the crowds clustering other eminences outside, withinthat precinct, hitherto almost sacred to Cavalierism, this was, ofcourse, in the ascendant. And what they saw seemed sure evidence of acrushing defeat having been sustained by their adversaries; so sure,that many who had all the night behaved modestly, and worn masks, nowpulled them off and began to swagger in true Cavalier fashion.
Sir Richard Walwyn, Eustace Trevor, and other Parliamentarian officerspresent were compelled to listen to observations sufficiently offensive.Had they been themselves unmannerly, or even without it, they couldhave stopped all that, being still masters in Bristol. But there was noneed for their showing spite by taking the initiative; as this wasforced upon them, whether or no, by command and the simple performanceof duty. While Madame Lalande's guests were hastening to take theirdeparture, a man, newly arrived, made appearance in their midst; anofficer, wearing _sabretasche_ and other insignia of an aide-de-camp.Entering unannounced at the outer gate, without ceremony he strode on upto the house, inquiring for Sir Richard Walwyn.
"Here!" responded the knight, himself about to leave the place; and hestepped forth to meet the new comer.
"From the Governor, Colonel Walwyn," said the aide-de-camp, saluting,and drawing a slip of folded paper from his sabretasche, which he handedto the Colonel of Horse, adding, "In all haste."
Tearing it open, Sir Richard read:--
"_Re-arrest all prisoners on parole, whether soldiers or civilians. Search the city through, and send them, under guard to the Castle_.
"Fiennes.
"_To the Colonel Walwyn_."
"Here's a _revanche_ for us, Trevor," said the knight, communicating thecontents of the despatch to his young troop captain, "if we areill-natured enough to care for such. Anyhow, we'll stop the speech ofsome of those fellows who've been making themselves so free of it.Haste down to quarters, and bring Sergeant Wilde with half a dozenfiles. We may as well begin our work here. Why, bless me! there's theman himself, and the soldiers, too!"
This, at the sight of the big sergeant, who was just entering the gate,and behind him a score of dismounted troopers. Rob had already receivedorders from the Castle to report himself with a detachment at MontserratHouse.
A scene followed difficult of description. Kings, Sultans, Crusaders--in costume only--with many other disguised dignitaries, wereunceremoniously stopped in their masquerading; each taken charge of by acommon trooper, and pinned to the spot. Many repented the imprudence ofhaving thrown aside their masks. By keeping these on they might haveescaped recognition. It was too late to restore them; and in a fewminutes' time the paroled prisoners were picked out, and ranged in linefor transport to the Castle's keep.
In all this there was much of the comic and grotesque; on both sideseven badinage and laughter. But there was anger too--Madame Lalande andher daughter especially indignant--while among the faces late unmaskedwere some showing serious enough, even rueful. To them it might be nojesting matter in the end.
On the countenance of Reginald Trevor--of course one of there-arrested--the expression was singularly varied. As well it might,after so many changes quick succeeding one another--jealousy of hiscousin; confidence in his sweetheart restored soon to be lost again; andnow that cousin confronting him, as was his duty, with a demand terriblyhumiliating. Yet Eustace had no desire to make it so; instead thereverse. For, meanwhile, Sir Richard had whispered a word in his earwhich went far to remove the suspicions late tormenting _him_. He butsaid,--
"I've orders to take you to the Castle, Reginald."
Then to avoid speech, which might be unpleasant to both, he turned away,leaving the prisoner to be looked after by Rob Wilde, who had commandsto conduct him to his prison.
"Come, captain!" said the big sergeant patronisingly, "we han't a greatways to go. Not nigh sich a distance as ye 'tended takin' me--fraeCat's Hill to the lock-up at Lydney."
The Royalist officer keenly felt the satirical jibe flung at him by theForester, but far more the play of a pair of eyes that were looking downupon him from one of the upper windows. For there stood Vaga Powell, awitness to all that was passing below. In a position almost identicalhe had seen her twice before, with the expression upon her face verysimilar. It puzzled him then, but did not vex him as now. For now hebetter understood it; and, as he was marched off from Montserrat House,he carried with him no sustaining faith or hope, as when riding awayfrom Hollymead.
Eustace also saw her at the window, as he was passing off. Butdifferent was the look she gave him, and his given back. In theirexchanged glances there was a mutual intelligence, which told that theirrespective guardian angels had kept promise by whispering sweet words toboth.