The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Well, perhaps, I have been too easily moved,” replied Charles in the same low tone. “I have bethought me, Sir John,” he added to him. “I may need this money, and I will therefore borrow it from you. Take the bag, Careless. That you are sincere in your professions of zeal I nothing doubt, but I now want energetic action.”

  “Were my sons at home, my liege,” said Sir John, whose accents showed that he was much distressed, “they would procure you a vessel, I am certain. But I am too old — —”

  “Enough!” cried the king. “I have been too hasty in my judgment. I perceive that I was wrong.”

  And as he spoke he extended his hand towards the old Cavalier, which the other pressed gratefully to his lips.

  This gracious action operated like balm upon Sir John’s wounded feelings. He attended the king to the park gate, and as they rode thither, Charles conversed with him in the most affable manner, and completely effaced all painful impressions.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VIII.

  HOW THE KING HEARD THE PARTICULARS OF HIS OWN DEATH AND BURIAL.

  The party rode back as cheerfully as they came. Though disappointed by the result of the interview with Sir John Strangways, Colonel Wyndham did not seem discouraged, but said he had another plan to propose to his majesty. However, an unlooked for occurrence had taken place during their absence.

  When about a mile from Trent, they were greatly surprised by hearing the church bells ring out a loud and joyous peal. Mingled with these sounds was the occasional discharge of a musket. What could have happened to call forth such manifestations? Not even Colonel Wyndham could conjecture. But as they drew near the village, they learnt that a small troop of Cromwell’s horse that had fought at Worcester had just arrived, and had proclaimed the utter rout of the royal army — adding the important, and as they declared authentic intelligence, that the Malignant Prince himself had been slain, and buried among a heap of his misguided followers.

  News then reached a retired village like Trent so slowly, that only vague rumours of the decisive battle had been hitherto received. But here were men who, having fought at the great fight, could not be discredited.

  The inhabitants of Trent, most of whom were fanatics, were greatly elated by the news, and desired to have the bells rung, and to this their minister willingly assented. They were also preparing to feast the victorious troopers, and at night there were to be bonfires and other rejoicings.

  Charles laughed when he learnt these particulars of his own death and burial, and not unreasonably thought that further search for him was not likely to be made in this quarter.

  As they went on, they found that the churchyard was filled by the villagers, while a score or more red-coats had tied up their horses in the yard of the mansion, and were now regaling themselves on the cold viands and ale with which they had compelled Mrs. Wyndham to supply them.

  His house being thus in the hands of the enemy, it behoved Colonel Wyndham to be careful how he approached it, but Peters met him before he reached the gate, and hastily explaining what had happened, told him the red-coats had behaved quietly enough as yet, and would no doubt depart peaceably if they were not thwarted.

  Acting on this advice, the colonel, on entering the yard, addressed a few words to the soldiers, telling them he was glad to see them, and adding that they should have as much ale as they liked. The prudence of this course was soon shown. The men thanked him, and allowed him and Careless to pass on unquestioned, but Charles was not quite so lucky. A stalwart trooper laid hold of his bridle, and declared he must give an account of himself.

  “I will answer for him,” cried Juliana. “He is my groom, and as true a man as ever breathed.”

  “True to whom?” demanded the trooper, gruffly.

  “To the Parliament, to be sure,” said Charles. “I am ready to drink Old Noll’s health.”

  “Coupled with the wish that he may soon be king?” said the trooper.

  “I forbid him to drink that toast,” cried Juliana.

  “Why so, fair mistress?” demanded the trooper, knitting his brows.

  “Because it would be treason to the state,” she rejoined.

  “Nay, friend, I have no such scruples,” remarked Charles, in an undertone to the trooper. “I will bring you a stoop of good liquor anon, and then we will drink any toast you please.”

  “Verily, thou art a true man,” rejoined the trooper. “Thou shalt learn to whom thou speakest. I am Fetch-him-out-of-the-Pulpit Strongitharm, by whose hand the young man Charles Stuart was slain.”

  “Was Charles Stuart slain by thee?” exclaimed the king.

  “Yea, verily by me,” rejoined Strongitharm, exultingly. “The buff coat which I now wear forms part of the spoils taken from the body of the Malignant Prince. Pass on.”

  As may well be imagined, old Lady Wyndham and her daughter-in-law were in great consternation at this visit, but owing to the prudent and conciliatory measures adopted by Harry Peters, the annoyance was very slight. Some of the troopers certainly entered the house, but they did not get beyond the kitchen, where they were very well entertained.

  Charles, however, was obliged to remain in the stables, and to mingle with the red-coats, but he comported himself so well that no suspicion whatever attached to him. How could it, indeed, when after listening to a further account from Strongitharm of his own death and burial, he emphatically declared that England had had a great deliverance!

  Later on in the day, the troopers marched off for Yeovil, where they meant to pass the night. The inmates of Trent House were thus relieved from anxiety, and Charles was able to return to his room.

  At dusk, bonfires were lighted by the sectarian villagers to celebrate Cromwell’s great victory at Worcester. The flames could be seen from the king’s windows, and the shouts reached his ears.

  “’Tis Cromwell’s turn now — it may be mine to-morrow,” remarked Charles to Mr. Langton, who was with him at the time.

  “Heaven grant it!” exclaimed the divine. “This poor misguided folk will shout quite as loudly as they do now — ay, and light just as large bonfires when your majesty is happily restored to the throne.”

  The next day passed very tranquilly at Trent House. After an agreeable walk in the garden with the fair Juliana, whose lively talk helped to chase away the gloom which, despite all his efforts, began to steal upon him, Charles had returned to his room, and was conferring with Careless as to what ought to be done, when Colonel Wyndham came in, with a letter in his hand, and having a very joyful expression of countenance.

  “I have just received a piece of information that promises to make amends for our disappointment of yesterday,” he said. “My friend, and your majesty’s most loyal subject, Colonel Bullen Reymes, of Wadden, in Dorsetshire, writes me word that he has succeeded in obtaining for Sir John Berkeley a passage to France through Captain William Ellesdon, of Lyme Regis. I am not personally acquainted with Captain Ellesdon, but I know him to be a man of strict honour and a staunch Royalist — as indeed this action proves him. What he has done for Sir John Berkeley he can do for your majesty.”

  “Oddsfish! this Captain Ellesdon seems to be the very man we require,” cried Charles. “But how comes it you never thought of him before?”

  “He did occur to me, my liege,” replied the colonel. “But though I felt sure of his desire to serve your majesty, I doubted his ability. Now I entertain a very different opinion. With your majesty’s approval, I will ride over to Lyme to-morrow and see him.”

  “Do so, by all means,” cried Charles, eagerly. “Careless shall go with you. The plan holds out every prospect of success. Captain Ellesdon, I conclude, can be told for whom the vessel is to be hired?”

  “You may entirely confide in him, sire,” replied the colonel. “He is loyalty itself, and will feel honoured by being thus employed.”

  “Then see him without delay,” cried Charles, rising from his seat, and pacing the room with manifest signs of impatience. “I am eager to be of
f. Can you not set out this evening? Nay, I am taxing your loyalty too strongly.”

  “Not a whit, my liege,” replied the colonel. “I will obey you in everything. Major Careless and myself will start this evening. We will sleep at Axminster, and ride thence betimes to-morrow to Lyme.”

  “You are a zealous friend, indeed, Frank,” cried Charles, looking well pleased.

  “With this important matter on my mind, sire, I shall not be able to rest till I have seen Captain Ellesdon,” said the colonel. “Are you prepared to start so soon?” he added to Careless.

  “I need only five minutes to saddle my horse,” replied the other.

  “Should a satisfactory arrangement be made, your majesty shall be immediately apprised of it,” said Colonel Wyndham. “I shall take Harry Peters with me.”

  Thereupon the conference ended, and Colonel Wyndham quitted the king to give such instructions to his wife as he deemed necessary before his departure.

  * * *

  CHAPTER IX.

  CAPTAIN ELLESDON, OF LYME REGIS.

  Evening was coming on when Colonel Wyndham and Careless, attended by Peters — all three being well mounted and well armed — quitted Trent on the important mission.

  At Yeovil they learnt that the troopers who had troubled them on the previous day had marched on to Crewkerne, and fearing some interruption, they made a slight détour, in order to avoid the latter place.

  Their road led through a very charming country, but its beauties were lost to them owing to the darkness, and they were not sorry to arrive, after a two hours’ ride, at the picturesque old town of Axminster, where they put up at a very comfortable hostel.

  Next morning, after an early breakfast, they quitted the inn, and took the road to Lyme Regis.

  On this side of Axminster the environs of the old town were extremely beautiful. Grey-thatched, white-walled cottages skirted the road, and attached to most of these pretty little habitations were apple-orchards, while green slopes in their vicinity, shaded by trees, lent a peculiar charm to the scene.

  Very soon the cottages and orchards were left behind, and the horsemen began to mount a lofty hill, from the brow of which a magnificent prospect was obtained — comprehending extensive views into the two fair counties of Dorset and Devon, long ranges of hills, varied in form — some crowned with woods, others wild and bare, or covered only with becoming heather and gorse — and wide deep valleys, through each of which a small river took its way towards the sea.

  After halting for a few minutes to breathe their steeds and enjoy this splendid panorama, the horsemen descended the further side of the hill, and on reaching the valley, found a charming little village, nestled among trees, consisting of a few habitations and an ancient church.

  Nothing can be finer than the ride between Axminster and Lyme Regis. Two lofty hills have to be crossed, each commanding splendid views, though totally differing in character. Cultivated almost to the summit, and divided into small patches by innumerable hedgerows, the hills have a most pleasing effect. But the prospect is ever varying, and as the point of view is continually shifted, new beauties are displayed.

  Our horsemen had now mounted the second hill, and were approaching Uplyme, when a glorious view burst upon them. A vast expanse of ocean, smooth as a mirror, and glittering in sunshine, lay before them; while on the left stretched out a bay, girded by bold and precipitous cliffs. The hills to which these cliffs belonged rose to a great height, the loftiest among them being known as the Golden Cap, on the summit of which a signal was placed, distinguishable far out on the main. The long sweeping line of coast was terminated by the Isle of Portland, which, as the morning was remarkably clear, could be distinctly descried.

  Again the horsemen halted for a few minutes to gaze at this splendid view. Careless gave utterance to his admiration, and Colonel Wyndham showed him where Charmouth and Bridport were situated, and pointed out the Golden Cap, of which mention has just been made.

  Hitherto Lyme itself had almost been hidden by intervening woods, but after they had passed through Uplyme, they could look down upon the collection of straggling and picturesque houses, built on the steep side of the hill on which the spectators were stationed.

  Desirous that his companion should have a more complete view of the place than could be obtained from the road, Colonel Wyndham turned into a field on the right, and conducted him to the edge of a lofty cliff that overlooked the port and the buildings adjoining it.

  “That is Lyme Cobb, as it is termed,” said the colonel. “There are a few vessels in the port, as you perceive. Heaven grant we may be able to secure one of them for the king!”

  When Careless had sufficiently examined the Cobb from the lofty point of observation they had chosen, they returned to the road, and soon gained the narrow and straggling street that climbed the hill-side.

  Captain Ellesdon’s residence was easily discovered, and the colonel and Careless proceeded thither on foot, while Peters took their horses to the George Inn. A narrow lane on the right led them to a commodious habitation, very pleasantly situated on a natural terrace facing the sea.

  On inquiring at the house they learnt to their great satisfaction that Captain Ellesdon was at home, and were shown into a comfortable and well-furnished parlour, where the captain shortly afterwards joined them.

  Captain Ellesdon was a man of middle age, with nothing very striking in his appearance, but his features were good, and his manner frank and prepossessing. The captain stood upon no ceremony with his visitors. Though not personally acquainted with Colonel Wyndham, he knew him, and shook hands with him very cordially. By the colonel he was introduced to Careless, and shook hands with him as well.

  “Pray sit down, gentlemen,” he said, “and tell me how I can serve you.”

  “You can serve us most materially, Captain Ellesdon,” returned the colonel; “and I will explain how. I have just heard from my friend Colonel Bullen Reymes, of Wadden, that you have enabled Sir John Berkeley to escape from his pursuers by procuring him a passage from this port to France. Can you do as much for a far more exalted personage than Sir John, and who is in yet greater peril from his enemies?”

  “Do I misunderstand you, Colonel Wyndham?” demanded Ellesdon, almost breathless with astonishment. “Do you allude to the king?”

  “I ought to bind you to secrecy, sir, before answering the question,” said the colonel. “But I know I am dealing with a loyal gentleman.”

  “You may trust me implicitly, colonel,” rejoined the captain. “But if an oath be requisite, I swear solemnly not to reveal whatever you may disclose to me.”

  “After this, I will not hesitate to ask you plainly if you can procure a vessel to transport his majesty to France?”

  “Do not let the hire of the vessel be a consideration, captain,” said Careless. “I am charged by his majesty to offer any terms that may be required.”

  “Too large a sum must not be offered, or it would excite suspicion,” rejoined Captain Ellesdon. “The skipper we engage must be led to believe that his passengers are only fugitive Cavaliers from Worcester — nothing higher. I know a shipmaster who is an honest fellow, and a perfect Royalist, but for all that, I would not trust him with this great secret.”

  “Is the shipmaster you refer to in Lyme now, captain?” inquired Careless, eagerly.

  “His vessel is in the Cobb, but he himself is at Charmouth. He is a tenant of mine, by name Stephen Limbry. Yesterday I chanced to enter the Custom House, and I found that Limbry had just entered his bark, intending a speedy voyage to St. Malo.”

  “To St. Malo!” exclaimed Careless, joyfully. “The very port to which his majesty desires to sail. Nothing could be more fortunate.”

  “A most fortunate circumstance indeed,” said Colonel Wyndham. “It would seem as if Providence designed that the king should be thus delivered from his foes. You must see Stephen Limbry without delay, captain.”

  “We will all ride over to Charmouth together,” said Ellesdon.
“’Tis but a mile hence. Your horses, I suppose, are at the inn? I will follow you there as soon as I can get my own horse saddled.”

  Colonel Wyndham and Careless then proceeded to the George, which was in the lower part of the town, and they had only just got out their horses when Captain Ellesdon made his appearance, mounted on a stout hackney.

  “We will ride by the coast, if you please, gentlemen,” he said. “The tide is low, and the sands are firm and good.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER X.

  STEPHEN LIMBRY OF CHARMOUTH, SHIP-MASTER.

  A wide opening on the right, at the bottom of the street, led to the seaside, and turning off in this direction, the party crossed the shingles and soon gained the hard sand, which was very pleasant to ride upon. But before proceeding, they stopped for a moment to look around. On the right, about a quarter of a mile off, was the Cobb, in which, as we have already intimated, a few vessels were moored, while somewhat nearer a dozen fishing-boats were lying at anchor, waiting for a favourable breeze. Some little bustle seemed going on at the Cobb, but otherwise the place was perfectly quiet. The huge wooden pier then in existence did not last out the century, and was succeeded by three or four other structures that shared the same fate; but Lyme is now provided with a handsome stone pier strong enough to resist any storms, and large enough to shelter any number of ships. Between the Cobb and the spot where Captain Ellesdon and those with him were stationed rose high banks, covered with trees, amidst which an occasional habitation might be descried. Now there are numberless charming villas in the same quarter.

  Having contemplated this scene for a few minutes, the party set off for Charmouth. Harry Peters’s services not being required, he was left at the George. Exhilarated by the sea air, Colonel Wyndham and Careless greatly enjoyed their ride over the hard, dry sands — now glancing at the tall, black, shelving cliffs as they passed them — now allowing their gaze to wander on as far as the distant Isle of Portland. But their pleasant ride soon came to an end, and in less than a quarter of an hour they had reached the spot where the little river Char loses itself in the sea. Three or four boats were drawn upon the beach, but there was not even a solitary fisherman’s hut on the sand-hills. Now-a-days, this is a bathing-place.