Collected works of j s f.., p.47
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 47
“’Tis as I thought,” said Ben, “there is a door that leads into the fold. From the fold there is a gate opening into the fields. There is another lock gone, anyway. And now, Will, let us get the beasts out. There is manure in this fold right up to the stable door, so none will hear if we walk a troop of horses across.”
Now, my own two horses, knowing my voice and the touch of my hand, came readily enough with me, and I had them out of their stalls and in Ben’s hand in the fold in a moment, but Cæsar, who was never harnessed by any other hand than his masters, was somewhat frightened, and trembled as I strove to pacify him, so that I grew anxious lest he should make a stir and bring down the landlord and his men upon us. However, by dint of coaxing and free use of his name I got him out of the stable and led him myself across the fold, Ben following with the other two horses. And presently we were out in the open fields, where we both mounted, I leading Cæsar by his bridle, and Ben riding Jack’s horse. Cæsar was plainly frightened and suspicious, for he knew that his master was not with him and would now and then stop and listen as he went along, so that our progress was interrupted continually. It was necessary, too, to make a long round in getting to the appointed meeting-place, for we had to skirt the town, passing round Tanshelf and the high ground over against the Priory, before we came to the lonely house where Jack and Philip waited for us. Then indeed there was much rejoicing ‘twixt Philip Lisle and his horse — nay, they could not have understood each other better if they had spoken a common tongue.
“And now, gentlemen,” said Ben, “I will go back and leave you to your own devices. Will, if thou goest to the war, I will see to the women at Dale’s Field. Make thy mind easy on that score. Jack, if thou seest fighting, remember thy old tricks. And so farewell, friends all, and God send ye good fortune and a safe return.”
And therewith he gave us a clasp of the hand and vanished into the darkness, while we, clapping spurs to our animals, set out in the direction of Dale’s Field, riding past Carleton and climbing the lower part of Went Hill, so that we might the sooner strike into the North Road.
Now, when we came to the old familiar homestead and could just make out its roofs and gables in the darkness, a great wave of feeling came over me that I should do wrong to forsake it and those whom it sheltered. It was my duty after all to stay there and defend it and them. And so I turned my horse’s head to the orchard gate and drew rein.
“Gentlemen,” said I, “ride on and leave me here. I cannot go with you and leave all I have in these troublous times. It is best that you should go, but not that I should go with you. Go on therefore and let me stay.”
“You are right, Will,” said Philip Lisle, after a pause. “Yes, it is best that you should stay and that we should go. You shall hear of us soon. Take care of Rose, Will. And so, farewell.”
I grasped his hand and promised, and then gave my hand to Jack, who squeezed it between his own.
“Good-bye, Will,” said Jack. “I wish thou hadst gone with us, but ’tis best not, considering the women. Well, perchance we shall get news of thee. Farewell.”
And so they rode away, and I, standing at the orchard gate, heard the sound of their horses’ feet dying into silence far off along the road.
END OF VOL. I.
VOLUME II.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE EVENTS WHICH FOLLOWED.
I CANNOT deny that when I heard the last ring of the horses’ feet and realized that Philip and Jack were gone, perhaps to great adventures, I was somewhat downcast at the thought of being left behind, and once the notion did come into my mind to ride after and join them. But then I thought again of my mother, and sister, and Rose Lisle, and felt that it was my duty to protect them. And so I opened the orchard-gate, and went down the familiar paths and put my horse in his stable, and afterwards went to bed and slept soundly, being somewhat worn out with my doings that day.
Now I expected, when I awoke next morning, to hear that Master Nicholas Pratt had sent some of his men after me, for he had proved himself so very much in earnest about our capture that I did not think he would be content to let his birds fly without some attempt to regain them. But there were no magistrates’ men there when I left my chamber, and none came during the morning. Also it would seem that Ben Tuckett had been misinformed as to their having sent men to search for papers at Dale’s Field, for my mother had had no visitor of that kind on the previous day. So, having remained at home during the morning, so as to be in readiness if Master Pratt and his crew desired to ask questions of me, I considered that my duty was done; and in the afternoon I walked across the meadows to service at Darrington church, being accompanied by Lucy and Mistress Rose. And we had no sooner got into church than I beheld Ben Tucket, seated in the corner of the nave and watching the door. When he saw me he pulled a wry face and seemed much surprised, but he was fain to keep his astonishment to himself until evensong was over, which he did with evident discomfort, his eyes constantly wandering over his book to make sure that it was really me whom he saw.
“How now, Will?” said he, joining me in the porch as soon as the last “Amen” was pronounced. “I thought thou hadst been a hundred miles away by this time. Where, then, are Jack and Master Lisle?”
“A good way on the road, Ben, I hope. As for me, I thought it best to stay here and protect the women.”
“I dare say you are right, Will,” he answered. “Nevertheless, I would have done my best in that direction. Yea, indeed, I was on my way now to see how they fared, having called in here to see if Lucy perchance came to service.”
“You were wrong last night, Ben,” I said. “There was no search for any papers at Dale’s Field. Neither has any person of Master Pratt’s sending been here this morning.”
“So I heard in town before setting forth,” answered Ben, “and I heard also that Master Pratt was somewhat exceeding his duty yesterday, and is now being heartily laughed at for what has befallen him. Certainly ’tis true that most of the magistrates and aldermen are for the Parliament, but the mayor is not, and he hath the military to support him. And so I fancy, Will, that you will hear no more of last night’s affair. And now I perceive that the girls have ceased greeting their acquaintance, Will, so let us cross the fields with them.”
And therewith he walked off with Lucy, having by that time arrived at a perfect understanding with her, while I followed after with Mistress Rose, with whom, you may be quite sure, I was not averse to walk and talk, being daily more attracted by her many virtues and graces. Only I was always somewhat tongue-tied when with her, for she seemed so far above me that I never knew what to say or how to say it.
Ben Tuckett was quite right in saying that we should hear no more of the previous night’s adventure. Nor did we, save that there were certain people in Pontefract market-place next Saturday who jested with me respecting my tenancy of Master Nicholas Pratt’s cellar, seeming to regard the matter as highly diverting. But there were others who looked upon me very blackly, and whispered each to other as I went along, these persons being persistent Parliamentarians who wished not well to the King and his servants. Also I met full face in the streets Master Pratt himself, and could not help smiling in his face, so diverted did I feel at the sight of him. Whereupon, he grew very red in countenance, and looked angrily at me.
“Have a care, Master Dale,” quoth he, “have a care! I may have thee in ward again presently, and thou shalt not escape then, I promise thee.”
But I laughed more at that, and went further along the street, where I met the mayor, Master Richard Oates, with whom I stayed to exchange a word.
“Do not vex Master Pratt,” said he, when I told him of my recent encounter. “It will not do, Master Dale, to recruit for the King publicly in our town. For see you, there is so much feeling about the Star Chamber and such-like things, that I think the people are of Master Pratt’s way of thinking. To be sure, ’tis a choleric man and a zealous partisan, but it will be well not to vex him. Tut, man, what need to make more enemies than we can help? Do you attend to your farm, Master Dale, and leave politics alone. Your friend Lisle hath left these parts, I hear?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “He has gone to the King, and John Drumbleforth, our parson’s son, with him.”
“So Jack has gone? Well, well, ’tis a harum-scarum young lad, but with as good a heart as ever beat. Alas! I mind how skilfully he robbed my orchard. But do not thou go to the wars, Will Dale. There will be fighting, sure enow, and ’tis thy place to protect thy womenkind. But do not recruit here again, Will.”
I had no mind to do that, for it was plain to me that the burgesses of Pontefract, taken as a body, were much more in favour of Parliament than King, and were inclined to break the head of any one who went against them. Not, indeed, that His Majesty had no supporters in these parts, for of the gentry and clergy he had plenty, in addition to the garrison of the Castle, under Colonel Lowther, a right valiant commander. For when the King erected his standard and called upon all true subjects to aid him in subduing his rebellious Parliament, there were many gallant gentlemen showed themselves ready to espouse his cause, and give time and money to serve him. Most, indeed, of the great families in our parts did liberally contribute to the royal exchequer at this time, giving, according to their means, from one hundred to many thousands of pounds in money. Moreover, they formed companies of their tenantry and supported them at their own expense, and they provisioned the Castle against the siege which was expected, and formed themselves and their companies into a garrison, and in this and other ways did all they could to further the King’s cause. Such were Sir William Lowther, Colonel Middleton, Colonel Wheatley, Major Dennis, and many others, besides the gentlemen volunteers, which were formed into four divisions, commanded respectively by Colonel Grey, son of Lord Grey, of Warke, in Northumberland, Sir Richard Hutton, Sir John Ramsden, and Sir George Wentworth. These gentlemen volunteers had amongst them many great and honourable names, such as the Daveys of Lincolnshire, lords of thirty-three baronies in that county; Sir Edward Radcliffe of Threshfield in Craven; Colonel Portington of Barnby Dun, who suffered great things for the royal cause; Captain Vavasour of Haslewood, a man of old and noble family, and an adherent of the ancient religion, being a Catholic, as were also several of the gentlemen volunteers, such as the Crofts, the Sayles, the Hammertons, the Stapletons, the Annes of Burghwallis, the Pearrys, the Easts, the Emsons, and many others; Sir John Ramsden of Byram, Lieutenant Saville, Sir Richard Hutton, High Sheriff of Yorkshire, whom the King was used to call the honest judge, with many another gallant gentleman who was more minded to serve the monarchy than the democracy. All these helped to make the ancient Castle a stronghold for the King, and did there practise their companies in the art of war, so that there was good prospect of their being able to hold out in the event of the Parliamentary troops being led against them.
Now, for some time after that news came to us but very rarely, and was not stirring or eventful when it did come, so that our lives went on in much the old way. I went about my farm and did my work, riding into market every Saturday and there transacting my business and hearing whatever gossip was afloat. There might have been no disturbance in the land, so smoothly did things go with us at Dale’s Field. To me, indeed, it was a pleasant time, for the presence of Rose Lisle seemed to cast a new light over the old house. She had made herself one of us already, looking up to my mother as if she were her own daughter, and busying herself about the household duties just as Lucy did. And so much did she win my mother’s heart that I believe she began to love Rose as a daughter, at which I was well pleased, being strangely rejoiced to see it.
Looking back upon that time, I cannot decide in my own mind when it was that I first began to love Rose Lisle. Nay, I do not think that there ever was a time when I did not love her, from the first moment in which I set eyes on her, coming singing along the path in the woods, for I thought of her from that day constantly, boy as I was. And yet when I met her again and found her grown a woman, and more beautiful than any woman I had ever seen, I was conscious of a new feeling and a new hope springing up in my heart, so that I came to look upon her as the one desire of my life. To me she was always the same, a maiden to be loved and honoured and won if my unworthiness could win her. Yet there was nothing fiery or impatient about my love for her, for it was enough for me that I could see her and enjoy her presence. And I knew not whether in those days she saw that I loved her, as indeed I did.
But there were others who saw it, and of these none were quicker in seeing it than Jacob Trusty, whose old eyes, I think, could see through a millstone in anything that concerned me. I had often noticed him watching Rose and myself narrowly as we walked of an evening in the garden or orchard, and many a time I had come across him and Rose talking together on such matters as the rearing of poultry and feeding of calves and other similar subjects on which Jacob’s heart delighted. But for a long time he said nothing to me, though I could see that he was thinking a good deal, for he was one of those people who do not deliver their minds in a hurry, and this quality seemed to deepen in him as his years increased. However, he was at last minded to address me on the matter, which he did one day as we stood in the cow-house, where we had been considering the advisability of feeding the roan cow for market.
“Master Tuckett,” said Jacob, “seems to come courting very strong. A persevering young man as ever I saw.”
This was true. I suppose nobody was ever more slavishly in love than Ben was with my sister Lucy.
“The doorstep,” continued Jacob, “never cools of him. However, ’tis the way of the world. So long as there are lasses there will be lads to run after them. In going through the world, William, you will never see aught plainer than that. Who-ho! Stand over, lass.”
This last remark was addressed to the roan cow, whose stall Jacob was bedding down with straw. He poked and prodded the straw about her feet before he resumed his remarks.
“’Tis as natural to fall in love,” said Jacob, “as it is for schoolboys to fight. The most natural thing in the world it is. For in going through the world, William, what does a man see? He sees the birds a-mating and a-building their nests everywhere, and the doves making love after their fashion in every coppice. Wherefore, I say, it is a very natural thing that young men and women should pair off.”
“But, Jacob,” I said, “you never paired off with anybody, because you have never been married. Come, now, why didn’t you practise what you preach?”
“Why, certainly,” he said, “that’s true, but there’s a many people very good at preaching who are very poor at practising, William. True it is I have never been married.”
“Nor in love, Jacob?”
“Why,” he said, “as to that, there was a young woman in Badsworth parish that I did think of at odd times. A young widow woman she was, and as plump as a partridge. Ah! I once walked a matter of seven miles to see her. A fine figure of a woman.”
“And it never came to anything, Jacob?”
“No-o,” said Jacob, slowly, “no-o. I never could quite give my mind to wedlock, though admiring it in others. It seemed beautiful at a distance, but I don’t know how it might be nearer at hand.”
“Oh, Jacob, and that is you who talk so finely about birds and doves and such like.”
“Ay, marry,” he said, with a twinkle of his grey eyes, “and why not? I am well pleased to see Master Tuckett come a-courting of our Lucy, and between thee and me and the post, William, I should like to see thee making towards a gold ring thyself. What, man, didst ever see a properer maiden than yond? I lay not.”
He pointed across the fold to the orchard, where Rose Lisle, fair as a dream of May, was gathering the ripe fruit into a basket and singing some old ditty softly to herself. I turned and watched her in silence.
“If I were thou, William,” said old Jacob, “I should thank God three times a day for such a wife as yond. Never in all this world wilt thou find so fair a maiden, nor so good. Let her not slip from thee. I speak, being old and anxious for thy welfare, having loved thee from thy birth upwards. I should like to see thy boy sitting on my knee before I go, William, even as thou didst sit there many years ago.”
And having said that he immediately began to make a noise and bustle amongst the cows, shaking up the straw in their stalls and causing them to tug so at their chains that I escaped from the racket and joined Rose Lisle in the apple orchard, being half inclined to tell her there and then of my love for her; yet I refrained, for I was not minded to be too hasty, although I knew right well that I loved her as truly as if I had known her for twenty years.
During the first autumn weeks in that year we had little news of Philip Lisle and Jack Drumbleforth. They had sent us word soon after their departure of their safe arrival at Nottingham, where the King was gathering an army about him, but after that there came a long period during which we had no tidings whatever. We often made inquiry of the people travelling along the road, but received nothing but vague and indefinite tidings of the course of events. Some said that the King had gathered a great army about him; others reported that His Majesty had but a scanty following. Towards the end of September came news of a fight at Powick Bridge, in which the Royalist troops had been successful, and this naturally gave a feeling of encouragement to those who like ourselves were loyal to the monarchy. Then came another period of silence; and then, a month later, we began to hear rumours of a great fight at Edgehill, on the borders of Warwick and Oxford, at which, said our informants, many men on both sides had been slain and wounded. We were somewhat anxious at this, being in ignorance as to the safety of our own friends, and we made many inquiries of travellers coming from the south, hearing nothing, however, till well into November, when a horseman, covered with mire and mud, rode up to our door, and, asking for Master Dale, delivered into my hands a thick packet directed to me in Jack Drumbleforth’s writing.
