CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.
INSULTING A FALLEN FOE.
A very saturnalia of riot and rapine followed the capture of Bristol.For the conditions of surrender were broken before the ink recordingthem was dry, and the soldiers fell to sacking, unrestrained. Therewere plenty of spiteful "malignants" to point out who should be thevictims, though little recked the royal hirelings what house theyentered, or whose goods appropriated. All was fish to their net; and sothe plundering went on, with scenes of outrage indescribable.
Fiennes has left testimony that Rupert did his best to stay his ruffianfollowers, cuffing and striking them with the flat of his sword. Lightblows they must have been, administered more in jest than earnest, withaim to throw dust in the eyes of the now ex-Governor and his staffstanding by. The men on whose shoulders they fell paid little heed tothem; for had they not been promised the sacking of Bristol? Anintercepted letter from Byron, of massacre memory, to Rupert himself,puts this scandalous fact beyond the possibility of contradiction ordenial.
That promise was kept faithfully enough, and the licence allowed infull. Every house of a Parliamentarian, noted or not, received adomiciliary visit, and was stripped of its valuables--all that could notbe hidden away--while ladies of highest respectability were subjected toinsult. It was Bristol's first experience of victorious Cavalierism;and even they who had conspired to introduce the sweet thing had theirsurfeit of it ere long.
By the terms of capitulation the soldiers of the vanquished garrisonwere to march out unmolested. But they must go at once, so as to vacatequarters for the in-coming conquerors. To civilians three days wereallowed for decision as to staying or going, with the implied right ofremoving their effects. This last clause may seem a sorry jest, sincethere was not much left them for removal. Of course, all who knewthemselves compromised, and had the means, decided on going.
Among these, it need scarce be said, was the Master of Hollymead. Underroyal ban already, he knew Bristol would no longer be a safe place ofresidence, either for himself or his daughters. Perhaps he feared morefor them under the aegis of such an aunt, and the companionship of sucha cousin. The Cavalier wolves would now be ravening about free from allrestraint--admitted to Montserrat House, and there made more welcomethan ever. Sad he had been at finding his sister so changed; irksomethe sojourn under her roof; and now that opportunity offered to takedeparture he hastened to embrace it. So eager was he to get away fromthe surrendered city, that he would not avail himself of the three days'grace, but determined to set forth on the morning after the surrender.
Luckily he had but few effects to embarrass him, having left his plateand other Penates in Gloucester, whither he intended repairing. Itremained but to provide transport in the way of saddle-horses, just thena scarce and costly commodity in Bristol. But cost what they might,Ambrose Powell has the means of obtaining them; and that night, ereretiring to rest, he had everything ready, His daughters had been warnedand were prepared for the journey; both of them eager as himself to setout upon it--neither caring ever to set eyes on Aunt Lalande or CousinClarisse again.
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Still another sunrise, and the people of Bristol were treated to aspectacle different from any that had preceded, or they had everwitnessed. They saw the late defenders of their city, now disarmed andhalf-disbanded, marching away from it, out through its gates, andbetween files of their foes, these last lining the causeway for somedistance outside.
In such cases, among the soldiers of civilised countries, it is a rule,almost universal, that no demonstration be made by the conquerors toinsult or further humble the conquered. More often may be heardexpressions of sympathy even deeds of kindness done. But all wasdifferent at this the first surrender of Bristol. As the defeatedsoldiers marched out, many with yes downcast and mien dejected, no wordnor look of pity was bestowed on them. Instead, they were assayed withtaunts and derisive cries, some even getting kick or cuff as they ranthe gauntlet between the lines of their truculent enemies. And thesewere "the gallants of England," ready to "strike home for their King,"as one of their songs puts it; but as ready to be spit upon by King, orPrince, if it so pleased him. Gallants indeed! As much desecration ofthe term applied to the Cavalier of Charles's time as to the music-hallcad of our Victorian era.
The chief exodus of the departing Parliamentarians was by the gate, andalong the road leading to Gloucester. There was nothing in the articlesof capitulation to hinder them again taking up arms. For reasonsalready stated they were not prisoners, not bound by _parole d'honneur_,but free to turn round and face the foe now exulting over them wheneveropportunity should offer. As a consequence, most took the route forGloucester, where the stanch Massey still held his ground, and would beglad to avail himself of their services.
But not all making away were soldiers. In the stream of moving humanitywere citizens, men and women, even whole families who had forsaken theirhomes, dreading ill-treatment at the hands of the Royalist soldiery;fleeing from Bristol as Lot from the doomed cities of the plain. Amongthese fugitives many a spectacle of wretchedness was presented, at whichthe unfeeling brutes who were witnesses but laughed.
Outside, and not far from the gate through which the motley processionwas passing, Rupert sat in his saddle, the central figure of a group ofsplendidly uniformed officers. They were his personal staff, with the_elite_ of his army, gathered there to gloat over the humiliation ofadversaries who had oft humiliated them. _Gentlemen_ as they deemedthemselves, some could not resist gratifying their vengeful spleen, butgave exhibition of it, in speech coarse and ribald as any coming fromthe lips of their rank-and-file followers. In all of which they wereencouraged by the approving laughter of their Prince and his high-toned_entourage_.
Never merrier than on that morn were these jovial gentry; believing asthey did that the fall of Bristol was the prelude to their triumph overall England, and henceforth they would have it their own way.
While at the height of their exultation a troop came filing along thecauseway, the sight of which brought a sudden change over thecountenances of the jesters. It was composed of men in cavalry uniform,but afoot and without arms; only some half-dozen--the officers--onhorseback. Its standard, too, taken from it, and, perhaps, well it hadbeen. Flouted before the eyes of that Cavalier crew, alike regardlessof oath and honour, the banner, showing Crown impaled by Sword, wouldhave been torn to shreds; they bearing it set upon and cut to pieces.
But it needed no ensign, nor other insignia, to tell who the dismountedand dismantled troopers were. Many around Rupert had met, fought with,and fled from them; while all had heard of Sir Richard Walwyn's Horse,and his big sergeant.
These they were, but in woefully diminished numbers--worse than theirsorry plight. They had borne the brunt of battle on the southern side;and although they had slain hundreds of the Cornish men, it was with aterrible thinning of their own ranks.
But their gallant leader was still at their head and by his side EustaceTrevor, with his veteran trumpeter Hubert; while, though marching afoot,almost as conspicuous as the mounted ones, there too was the colossalsergeant erst deer-stealer, Rob Wilde. All proudly bearing themselves,notwithstanding what had transpired. No thought of having beenconquered had they; instead, the consciousness of being conquerors. Andless angry at the men with whom they had been fighting than at him forwhom they had fought. Nathaniel Fiennes had either betrayed them andtheir cause, or proved incapable of sustaining it. It was on thataccount they looked scowling and sullen, as they filed past Rupert andhis surrounding.
But if their black looks were given back by the Royalist officers, theseforbore the taunting speech they had hitherto poured upon others.Something of shame, if not self-respect, restrained them. They knew itwould but recoil on themselves, as with curs barking at lions.
As Sir Richard and his troop captain came opposite, two officersalongside Rupert exchanged looks with them of peculiar sign
ificance.Colonel Tom Lunsford and Captain Reginald Trevor these were. Bothreleased from their imprisonment--the latter but the day before--theywere now not only free, but in full feather and favour, appointed to thePrince's staff.
The interchange of glances between the _quartette_ was each to each; theex-lieutenant of the Tower alone regarding the soldier knight, and witha sneer of malicious triumph. He would have added words, but dreadedgetting words back that might rake up old scores, as when they last metat Hollymead, exposing his poltroonery. So he contented himself with asardonic grin, to get in return for it a look of contempt, too scornfuland lordly to care for expression in speech.
The play of eyes between the cousins was alike full of meaning, andequally unintelligible to lookers on who knew not the antecedents. Butthey passed words as well; only a remark with rejoinder, the former evenunfinished. Reginald, still smarting from the incidents of that nightat Montserrat House, could not restrain his tongue; and, as the othercame close, he said, with his old affectation of superiority,--
"If I'd only had the chance to meet you on the ramparts yesterdaymorning, I would--"
"_You_ would be there now, without me," was the interrupting retort."Down among the Cornish dead men. That's what you intended telling me,isn't it?"
Thus again getting the better in the encounter of words, with a lightlaugh Eustace rode on, leaving his cousin angrier than ever, more thanever desirous of crossing swords with him to the cry of "No Quarter!"