Colonel Greatheart

by H. C. Bailey

  "Your own kind of courage, Colonel," Major Stewart sneered.

  "Yes, sir," said Colonel Stow, eying him serenely, "for I know how to fight.… Oh, zounds, the fool!"

  It was a tribute to my Lord Cleveland. My Lord Cleveland suffered from the ability to believe himself a leader of cavalry. He had chosen to fling his regiment at Cromwell, and the lieutenant general, who desired nothing better, split his brigade in two and let a half fall on either flank of my Lord Cleveland's unhappy men. They had been utterly overwhelmed but for Colonel Stow, who swung his regiment round and made as if he would take the Puritans in rear. They faced about to meet him, their trap was spoiled, and my Lord Cleveland's men straggled back in disorder. But their colonel had gone down in the charge, and their standard of a lion with a beagle baying at him was gone to swell the Puritan trophies. Colonel Stow drew off. There had been no more than some snapping of pistols between the front ranks.

  There was naught to be won of a charge, and soon either side fell back. Twilight was darkening. "Rot me!" growled Major Stewart, "one runs no risks in this regiment. Od burn me, not one poor charge!"

  Colonel Stow was looking at the standardless shattered ranks of my Lord Cleveland. "Nay, we'll not lose our honor," said he.

  Major Stewart laughed. "I thought we had."

  "You are perhaps a poor judge of honor, Major," said Colonel Stow sweetly.

  The major snarled. "Well, Colonel," says he, with a scornful truculence, "and since you are so honorable tonight, whom do you name to fight you—which is the happy man?"

  "How can I tell?" said Colonel Stow.

  "I'gad, I thought as much. Nay, we'll not be bubbled so. Which did most gallantly, you said."

  "And that is for you gentlemen to say," said Colonel Stow sweetly.

  "Ods fire, with you in command, no gentleman has a chance to be gallant."

  "You see none?" Colonel Stow inquired with some interest, and when Major Stewart denied it with oaths he laughed.

  "Why, sir, do you mean to slide out of your promise?" cried the major.

  "You shall confess I have kept it," said Colonel Stow.

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  Chapter Twenty

  Mistress Normandy Sees a Friend

  PRINCE RUPERT knew and Cromwell knew that those stubborn Puritan pikemen who won Speen Hill had decided the issue of the day. Cromwell and Rupert both looked often anxious to the main body of the Parliament army about Newbury, where my Lord Manchester had command. If Manchester would but hurl his brigades on the King's infantry, they could be taken in front and rear and trampled to powder. With fierce messages Cromwell's orderlies sped to my Lord Manchester again and again. But my Lord Manchester, that "sweet, meek man," would not be so harsh as to defeat his foe. Twilight fell on a half-fought fight.

  Prince Rupert, unlike my Lord Manchester, could make up his mind. He saw swiftly that the weak position left him was not to be held, and swiftly came his orders for retreat. The gentleman who brought them to Colonel Stow's regiment could not find Colonel Stow, and Major Stewart swore by his honor and much else that the white cuckoo had deserted.

  If he had seen the going of Colonel Stow he would have been more sure of it. Colonel Stow was possessed with an idea that pleased him, and it took him a strange course. "The best of a soldier that I have known," Colonel Royston calls him, "and always of a great sanity," and Royston, though a friend, was no fool. But Colonel Stow lived a soldier of dreams. There were hours when he must fling sane duty away and ride with romance. A deed of wild splendor could allure the man whose nature would not let him waste a troop in rashness. He loved, doubtless—as in a rare sneer at his friend Colonel Royston hints somewhere—he loved to conceive himself decorated with a knight errant's glory. He was a subject of vanity. But chiefly he desired this wild work for the throb of it, the instant peril of all. That made for him the best of life.

  So you see him in the twilight, with a Puritan's green bough in his hat, and a Puritan's red cloak about him, working craftily round to the rear of Cromwell's troopers. They were dismounted and loosening girths, and making ready to bivouac. Colonel Stow came through them at an easy pace, whistling the tune Martyrdom.

  "Whence, brother? And with what fortune?" cried a swart troop sergeant.

  "Praise the Lord!" Colonel Stow exhorted him. "From Sir William Waller, to whom the Lord hath been very gracious. What fortune with you?"

  The troop sergeant groaned in spirit. "The Lord hath not suffered us to do an execution. We are miserable sinners and unworthy. We have gone to and fro in the earth, and walked up and down in it, yet we have accomplished nothing save some small overthrow of one regiment of the men of Belial, from whom we took their colonel and their standard."

  "A standard!" cried Colonel Stow in righteous ecstasy. "Nay, but you jest."

  The sergeant groaned. "What have I to do with jesting? I am a vessel of wrath."

  Colonel Stow asked pardon for mistaking him. "Whose was this standard, then?"

  "Man, what do I know? We fight not for such gauds. 'Tis sent to the man Henry Montagu, whom the children of this world call Earl of Manchester."

  "And the children of God call fool," said Colonel Stow, and won a sour smile from the sergeant, and rode on. The affair prospered excellently.

  The darkness was falling swift, and the fires made black shadows that Colonel Stow used well. Himself scarce seen, he watched the gathering crowds and their bearing, and caught scraps of talk. They fascinated him, these soldiers who could not joke. He saw them through the lurid, smoky light, belts loosed, corselets unlaced, but with no joy in their ease. They crowded round the soup pots to argue whether the Lord was displeased with them for frowardness, or my Lord Manchester, like Saul who slew not Agag. He caught the strong accent of his own Buckinghamshire, and checked a moment to hear Ingoldsby's regiment holding a prayer-meeting till their pots boiled. They were doubtless ludicrous, but that was not what troubled Colonel Stow. They were too much in earnest to be pleasant enemies. He liked a little humor upon the other side.

  Again and again a patrol challenged him for his errand and was satisfied to hear that he came from Sir William Waller. Colonel Stow always made one lie take him as far as it would. His first danger came as he drew upon the houses of Newbury town. He heard the ring of his own voice before him and had almost ridden against his brother. There was a party of Puritan officers too much concerned in their own debate to mark Colonel Stow's sudden break of pace behind them. Colonel Stow heard that his brother was displeased with the world and my Lord Manchester. The sentiment appeared general.

  Newbury town was noisily alive. The streets throbbed with chatter and argument. Soldier and citizen wrangled vehemently in biblical phrase on the fortune of the day and the morrow, and Colonel Stow had no difficulty in avoiding attention. He learned easily that my Lord Manchester's quarters were at the Sun and saw with a glad relief his brother turn into the courtyard of the Blue Bear.

  The market-place was half light with the glare of lanterns and torches and by the door of the borough hall, made hospital for the hour's need, grave browed nurses stood waiting for the first convoy of wounded. There was one who as Colonel Stow turned from the bridge and rode into the light gave a strange choked cry of alarm and caught her breast. "It is nothing, it is nothing," she gasped as the others turned to her. "A tiny shooting pain. It is gone. It is past." She was Joan Normandy. Colonel Stow heard her cry and the murmuring voice and was most careful not to see her. But the heart in him beat queerly. Some tone in that cry troubled him. And Joan Normandy thanked God that he had not heard and gazed after him wide-eyed and white, trembling. He frightened her with a wild hope. He wore the Puritan tokens, the Puritan colors; and still she dared not let herself believe that he had given himself to her faith. That were too great a joy. But he was near, he was near, and her blood surged quick and she strained after him.

  Colonel Stow, brazen enough, rode up to the door of the Sun, my Lord Manchester's inn, dismounted and gave his horse
in charge to one of the lads of the town who gaped about the doorway. A moment he stood and with swift eye considered the position. My Lord Manchester had no more guard than a single sentry at his door. The market-place had a hundred tiny crowds of soldier and citizen all chattering together, but there was not so much as a sergeant's guard under arms. It promised well. Colonel Stow turned by the broad gateway to the Sun.

  He approached the sentry with a flattering air of confidence. "Hark ye, brother, where will I find the captain of the guard?"

  The sentry permitted himself to grin. "Do 'e want your head bit off?"

  "Nay," said Colonel Stow, "I have an unreasonable kindness for it."

  "Then keep yourself away from Captain Billy Vaughan," said the sentry.

  Colonel Stow scratched his nose. "There is doubtless some one more amiable?" he suggested.

  "And if so be there be," said the sentry, looking excessively wise, "why should I tell you?" Colonel Stow put his hand in his pocket. The sentry grinned more broadly. Colonel Stow was relieved to find some one corruptible in this righteous army. A shilling passed. "Do 'e ax for Sergeant Bob Willey. He'll not be far from the tap."

  Colonel Stow proceeded, following the smell of liquor. Not indeed in the tap, lest discipline should be shamed, but within easy reach of it he found a red round man with a sergeant's orange scarf on his buff coat. "Sergeant Willey?" quoth he and the round man wheezed. "May I speak with you?"

  "Surely," said Sergeant Willey.

  "Shall we crack a quart first?"

  "Surely," said Sergeant Willey and grinned. "If you pay for it."

  Colonel Stow remarked to himself that my Lord Manchester's quarters had a different atmosphere from the rest of the army. He drew Sergeant Willey away to a corner and they buried their noses in tankards of the oldest October. Then, "'Tis a little affair of my own," says Colonel Stow mysteriously. "I am a trooper of Ireton's and when the malignants charged us today I had the luck to win one of their standards by a thrust in the short ribs. Well, the standard, my quartermaster saith, he sent to my lord here. But I have found a low fellow of Cromwell's regiment swears there was but one taken today and he took it. Prithee, tell me, that I may call him liar, what have you here."

  "There is but one brought in, my bully. A thing of a red lion with a yellow dog that yelps at him."

  "'Tis the true likeness of mine!" cried Colonel Stow, in an ingenuous rage. "Verily, I will chastise that vain boaster with whips and with scorpions. Prithee, sir, help me to a sight of this that I may know it and be sure. I would not lightly make strife in the army of the Lord."

  "O, faith, if you are for swingeing one of Noll Cromwell's varlets none of my lord's men will balk you. I'll help you to the rag, my bully. Follow on, and good luck to your quarrel, follow on."

  He led the way up to a disorderly guardroom where half a dozen troopers lolled and snored and drank. He took from a corner the tattered standard and shook it out carelessly. It was stiff with blood. "There is the ugly rag," said he with a sneer of a laugh at it and flung it down on the floor. Colonel Stow's eyes flashed. The soul of Sergeant Willey annoyed him. "Is that yours, my buck?" quoth Sergeant Willey and stirred the blood stained folds with his foot.

  Colonel Stow picked it up with a gentle care and spread it wider, drawing back with that pretence to the door. "Yes, it is mine," he said gravely, and on the word smote Sergeant Willey down with the staff and darted out, slamming the door. He took the stairs in a leap, he rushed across the courtyard. Shouts arose behind him and the heavy thud of the troopers. "Halt there! Seize him! Seize him! A malignant! Seize him!" And under the gateway a man did seize him. Colonel Stow found himself gazing close into a red fleshy face from which gray eyes flashed pale. It was Cromwell himself. Colonel Stow put the staff of the standard between General Cromwell's legs and flinging himself forward, upset General Cromwell and broke away. The sentry drove a pike at him and he slipped beneath the thrust and leaped to his saddle. Men ran to snatch at his bridle, but he drove in his spurs and the horse bounded forward, hurling them down. One of Cromwell's escort had time to rein round in his path, but the staff of the standard emptied the saddle like a lance and Colonel Stow crashed across the market while the little crowds of chatterers fled out of his way. He stood up in his stirrups. "For the King!" he shouted. "For the King!" and so sped away from the half light of the market-place into the gloom.

  There was one who watched him go with a wild gleam in her eyes; her bosom surged high and her cheeks were hot. She was alive with a strange joy. She was keenly, fiercely glad of his deed and proud. She throbbed with mad life. He was her hero of the springtime, and none like him among men. He dared, and, gay and splendid, he conquered the impossible. It was good, it was good to give her heart to him.… Not then nor for many an hour did she think to weep that his deeds were for her foes, that he was pledged still to another faith, another love.… He was fearless and strong and great.… While she toiled that night through to ease the pain of the wounded, her soul was singing a strange melody.…

  Colonel Stow was heartily anxious as he broke away through the dark streets. He could hear Cromwell's troopers behind him and he did not know the town. Only he meant to get out of it on the side remote from the armies. By the turn of the road to Hungerford two of the Puritans caught him up and he heard the whirr of their wheel locks and struck out behind him with the full length of the standard. He hit something. The shots went wild and he had time for his sword before they closed. He drew rein sharply and they were borne by him before they were aware. Then from behind he came at them with the point and one went down over the horse's head and the wild blows of the other but grazed down his arm as he was away again. Still the others pressed after him and he thundered through the peace of the country night, watching the hedgerows. At last he saw a meadow clear from the road to the river and reined short off. One quick scurry over the turf and his horse took the water. The Puritans had their fill. They halted steaming horses and trained pistols for him. But it was an ill shot for wheel locks in the gloom and the balls whistled far wide. Colonel Stow rose on the farther bank and waved the standard round his head, shouting, "For the King! For the King!"

  Wet and ragged, his face splashed with blood, he came back to his regiment. It was mustering for retreat. Major Stewart, enjoying himself in command, received his colonel with no affectation of pleasure. "Od rot me," says he, "I swore you had gone over to the other side."

  "It may surprise you," said Colonel Stow sweetly, "but you spoke the truth."

  "If I ever knew what you meant," Major Stewart grumbled, "it would be better for both of us."

  "Who knows?" said Colonel Stow. "Well, I had to fetch something. Major, will you send that to Prince Rupert with the duty of Colonel Stow's regiment?"

  "By the Lord," said Major Stewart very slowly, "it is Cleveland's standard!"

  "Your surprise does not flatter me," said Colonel Stow.

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  Chapter Twenty-One

  Colonel Stow Keeps the Peace

  THROUGH the darkness, the King's army defiled past the front of my Lord Manchester's position and took the road for Oxford. My Lord Manchester was kind enough to neglect so fair a chance of attack. For which he was after mightily blamed. But it seems likely that at the moment of opportunity my Lord Manchester had enough to do in bracing himself against a torrent of reproaches from the lieutenant general, who loved him hourly less.

  So the weary Cavaliers made away north over gray uphill roads the long night through. Not till dawn did they dare stay for a bivouac. On the reverse of the hills beyond Ilsley the campfires broke against the first blue light and worn-out men slept where they fell. Colonel Stow and his officers, gathered round a fire, looked at one another queerly through the pungent smoke. There was silence.

  The sutler brought them cheese and biscuit and a jar of ale. "Well, gentlemen," says Colonel Stow, beginning to munch, "there was some matter of a duello, I think. Have you made your election? Which of you ha
ve I the honor to meet?"

  Major Dick Stewart swore pensively at creation. Then there was silence again.

  Colonel Stow shrugged. "The next move is yours, gentlemen," said he, and went on with his cheese.

  "Split me," said Major Stewart, and for a while expressed no other desire. Colonel Stow, munching placidly, felt their eyes converge upon him. I can not conceal that he was subject to vanity. Then, "How a murrain can we fight you?" the Major blurted out. "If you'll fight the man that did best today, fight yourself. Od rot you, you have beat us all. And we—well, we are all for you, and there is no more to it."

  "Sein d'enfer," said Captain Sedley daintily, "I will recant some words of mine. I profess I have a cruel tongue. I ask pardon, Colonel, and salute you de bon coeur. No Cavalier can do more." And from the rest, who despised Captain Sedley's gift of words, there was a gruff muttering.

  Colonel Stow was ready to make repentance easy. "No need for so much, gentlemen," said he quickly, and stretched out his hand to Major Stewart. "The truth is, I was only seeking the right to keep peace with you."

  "The truth is," growled Major Stewart, "you are beyond us and we be fools. Split me, we be fools." The other gentlemen had not the same zeal in confession, but they did not deny it.

  It was a holy frame of mind. "I foresee that we shall be a happy regiment, gentlemen," said Colonel Stow. They looked some doubt of living up to his emotions. "If only we had more beer," said he sadly, and won all their hearts. They guffawed affectionately. In the midst of which, vague through the smoky light, a large man came stalking to them. There was no mistaking the Palatine.