CHAPTER FORTY ONE.
BY THE "BUCKSTONE."
On the highest point of the Forest of Dean district--just one thousandfeet above ocean's level--is a singular mass of rock known as the"Buckstone." An inverted pyramid, with base some fifteen feet indiameter, poised upon its apex, which rests on another rock mass ofquadrangular shape as upon a plinth. Into this the down-turned apexseems indented so far as to make the apparent surface of contact but afew square feet. In reality the two masses are detached, thesuperimposed one so loose as to have obtained the character of a"rocking stone." Many the attempt to rock it; many the party oftourists who had laid shoulders against it to stir it from itsequilibrium; not a few taking departure from the place fully convincedthey had felt, or seen it, move.
And many the legend belonging thereto, Druidical and demoniac; someassigning it an artificial, others a supernatural, origin.
Alas for these romantic conjectures! the geologist gives them neithercredence nor mercy. Letting the light of science upon the Buckstone, heshows how it comes to be there; by the most natural of causes--simplythrough the disintegration of a soft band of the old red sandstoneinterposed between strata of its harder conglomerate.
From beside this curious eccentricity of the weather-wearing forces isobtained one of the finest views of all England, or rather a series ofthem, forming a circular panorama. Turn what way one will the eyeencounters landscape as lovely as it is varied. To the east,south-east, and south can be seen the far-spreading champaign country ofGloucester, Somerset, and Devon, here and there diversified by bold,isolated prominences, as the Cotswolds and Mendips, with a noble stream,the Severn, winding snake-like along, and gradually growing wider, tillin funnel-shape it espouses the sea, taking to itself the title ofChannel.
From the shores of this, stretching away northward, but west from theBuckstone, is a country altogether different. No plains in thatdirection worth the name, but hills and undulating ridges, rolling uphigher and higher as they recede, at length ending in a mountainbackground, blue black, with a horizontal line which shows many acurious _col_ and summit.
The greater portion of this view is occupied by the shire of Monmouth,its foreground being the valley of the Wye, where this river, afterrunning the gauntlet between English Bicknor and the Dowards, comes outsurging and foam-crested as a victorious warrior with his plumes stillunshorn. And as he in peaceful times might lay them aside, so thefretted and writhing river, clot after clot, casts off its snowlikefroth, and, seemingly appeased, flows in tranquil current through thenarrow strip of meadow land on which stands the miniature city ofMonmouth.
Although below the Buckstone, at least nine hundred of the thousand feetby which this surmounts the sea's level, the point blank distancebetween them is inside the range of modern great guns. And so wellwithin that of a field-glass that from the overhanging Forest heightsmen could be distinguished in the streets of the town, or moving alongthe roads that lead out of it.
As already said, one of these is the Kymin, then the main route oftravel to Gloucester, by Coleford and Mitcheldean. Near where itattains the Forest elevation, at the picturesque village of Staunton, alane branches off leading to the higher point on which stands theBuckstone; a path running through woods, only trodden by the tourist andothers curious to examine the great balanced boulder.
On that same afternoon and hour when the cadgers were toiling up theKymin Hill, two personages of very different appearance and character--both men--might have been seen entering into the narrower trackway, andcontinuing on up towards the rock-crowned summit.
On reaching it one of them drew out a telescope, and commenced adjustingthe lens to his sight. If his object was but to view the scenery therewas no need for using glass. Enough could be taken in by the naked eyeto satisfy the most ardent lover of landscape, though in September thewoods still wore their summer livery; for on Wye side it is late ere thefoliage loses its greenery, and quite winter before it falls from thetrees. Here and there only a dash of yellow, or a mottling of maroonred, foreshadowed the coming change; but no russet-grey as yet. Theafternoon was one of the loveliest; not a cloud in the azure sky savesome low-lying fleecy cumuli, snow-white but rose-tinted, towards whichthe sun seemed hastening as to a couch of repose. A cool breeze hadsucceeded the sultriness of the mid-day hours; and, aroused from itstorpor, all animated nature was once more active and joyous. Out of thedepths of the High Meadow woods came the whistling call of stag and thebleat of roebuck; from the pastures around Staunton the lowing of kine,mingled with the neighing of a mother mare, in response to the "whigher"of unweaned foal, while in Forest glade might now and then be heardshrill cries of distress, where fierce polecat or marten had sprung uponthe shoulders of some hapless hare, there to clutch and cling till thevictim dropped dying on the grass.
All the birds were abroad, some upon the trees, singing their evensong,or making their evening meal; others soaring above, with design to makea meal of them. Of these a host; for nowhere are the predatory speciesmore numerously represented than along the lower Wye. More numerousthen than now; though still may be seen there the fish-eating osprey;oftener the kite, with tail forked as that of salmon; not unfrequentlythe peregrine falcon in flight swift as an arrow, and squeal loud as theneigh of a colt; and at all times the graceful kestrel, sweeping the airwith active stroke of wing, or poised on quivering pinions, as upon aperch.
In those days, eagles were common enough on the Wye; and just as the twomen had taken stand by the Buckstone, a brace of these grand birds cameover; the owners of an eyrie in the Coldwell rocks, or the Windcliff.After a few majestic gyrations around the head of Staunton-hill, with ascream, they darted across the river to Great Doward, and thence on toquarter Coppet Wood.
But he using the telescope, as his companion, took no more notice ofthem than if they had been but skylarks. Nor looked they on that lovelylandscape with any eye to its beauties. They were neither tourists nornaturalists, but soldiers; and just then, man, with his ways alone, hadinterest for them.
Both were in uniform; the elder--though there was no great difference intheir ages--wearing that of a Colonel in the Parliamentary army; a rankwhich, in these modern days, when military titles are so lavishlybestowed, would seem as nothing. But in those times of a truerConservatism, even though the social fabric was being shaken to itsfoundation, a colonel held as high command as a major-general now. Sowith him who had the telescope to his eye; for it was Colonel EdwardMassey, the military Governor of Gloucester.
And the other was a colonel, too, on the Parliamentary side; though inuniform of a somewhat irregular kind. Dressed as a Cavalier, but withcertain insignia, telling of hostility to the Cavalier's creed; oneespecially proclaiming it, with bold openness--this, a bit of goldembroidery on the velvet band of his hat, representing a crown, thrustthrough and through by a rapier. Fair fingers had done that deftneedlework, those of Sabrina Powell. For he who displayed the defiantsymbol was Sir Richard Walwyn.
Why the two colonels were together, and there, needs explanation. Manya stirring event had transpired, many a bloody battle been fought, sincethe surrender of Bristol to Rupert; and among them that most disastrousto him as to the King's cause--Marston Moor. It had changed everything;as elsewhere, freeing the Forest of Dean from the Royalist marauders,who had been so long its masters. Massey had himself dealt them adeadly blow at Beachley; routing Sir John Wintour's force, caught therein the act of fortifying the passage a crass the Severn.
That occurred but three days before, and the active Governor ofGloucester having hastened on to Staunton, was now contemplating adescent upon Monmouth.
There was one who had pressed him to this haste, having also counselledhim to attempt the capture of the town. This, the man by his side. Buta woman, too, had used influence to the same end. Before sallying forthfrom Gloucester, for Beachley, a girl--a beautiful girl--had all butknelt at his feet, entreating him to take Monmouth. Nor did she makeany secret of why she wished this.
For it was Vaga Powell, believingthat in Monmouth Castle there was a man confined, whose freedom was dearto her as her own. But she feared also for his life, for it had come tothat now. The _lex talionis_ was in full, fierce activity, andprisoners of war might be butchered in cold blood, or sent abroad, andsold into slavery--as many were!
Luckily for the young lady, her intercession with Massey was made at theright time, he himself eagerly wishing the very thing she wanted. Eversince becoming Governor of Gloucester, Monmouth had been a sharp thornin his side, compared with which Lydney was but a thistle. And now,having laid the latter low--as it were, plucked it up by the roots--hemeant dealing in like manner with the former. To capture the saucylittle city of the Wye would be a _coup_, worth a whole year'scampaigning. With it under his control, soon would cease to be heardthat cry hitherto resonant throughout South Wales, "For the King!" Tostill the hated shibboleth--alike hated by both--he and Sir RichardWalwyn were now by the Buckstone, with eyes bent upon Monmouth.