Books: Under the Storm

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Under the Storm

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Once Patience, left at home watching the rushing of the stream,
became so frightened that she actually took the children up there,
and set Rusha to hold the baby while she dragged up some sheepskins
and some food.

Steadfast coming home asked what she was about and laughed at her,
showing her, by the marks on the trees, that the flood was already
going down. Such alarms came seldom, but the constant damp was
worse. Happily it was always possible to keep up a fire, wood and
turf peat was plentiful and could be had for the cutting and
carrying, and though the smoke made their eyes tingle, perhaps it
hindered the damp from hurting them, when all the walls wept, in
spite of the reed mats which they had woven and hung over them. And
then it was so dark, Patience's rushes did not give light enough to
see to do anything by them even when they did not get blown out, and
when the sun had set there was nothing for it, but as soon as the few
cattle had been foddered in their shed and cave, to draw the mat and
sheepskins that made a curtain by way of door, fasten it down with a
stone, share with dog and cat the supper of broth, or milk, or
porridge which Patience had cooked, and then lie down on the beds of
dried leaves stuffed into sacking, drawing over them the blankets and
cloaks that had happily been saved in the chest, and nestling on
either side of the fire, which, if well managed, would smoulder on
for hours. There the two elder ones would teach Rusha her catechism
and tell old stories, and croon over old rhymes till both the little
ones were asleep, and then would hold counsel on their affairs,
settle how to husband their small stock of money, consider how soon
it would be expedient to finish their store of salted mutton and pork
to keep them from being spoilt by damp, and wonder when their hens
would begin to lay.

It could hardly be a merry Christmas for the poor children, though
they did stick holly in every chink where it would go, but there were
not many berries that year, and as Rusha said, "there were only
thorns."

Steadfast walked to Bristol through slush and mire and rain, not even
Smith Blane went with him, deeming the weather too bad, and thinking,
perhaps, rather over much of the goose at home.

Bristol people were keeping Christmas with all their might, making
the more noise and revelry because the Parliament had forbidden the
feast to be observed at all. It was easy to tell who was for the
King and who for the Parliament, for there were bushes of holly,
mistletoe, and ivy, at all the Royalist doors and windows, and from
many came the savoury steam of roast beef or goose, while the other
houses were shut up as close as possible and looked sad and grim.

All the bells of all the churches were ringing, and everybody seemed
to be trooping into them. As Steadfast was borne along by the
throng, there was a pause, and a boy of his own age with a large hat
and long feather, beneath which could be seen curls of jet-black
hair, walked at the head of a party of gentlemen. Everyone in the
crowd uncovered and there was a vehement outcry of "God save the
King! God save the Prince of Wales!" Everyone thronged after him,
and Steadfast had a hard struggle to squeeze into the Cathedral, and
then had to stand all the time with his back against a pillar, for
there was not even room to kneel down at first.

There was no organ, but the choir men and boys had rallied there, and
led the Psalms which went up very loudly and heartily. Then the Dean
went up into the pulpit and preached about peace and goodwill to men,
and how all ought to do all in their power to bring those blessed
gifts back again. A good many people dropped off during the sermon,
and more after it, but Steadfast remained. He had never been able to
come to the Communion feast since the evil times had begun, and he
had thought much about it on his lonely walk, and knew that it was
the way to be helped through the hard life he was living.

When all was over he felt very peaceful, but so hungry and tired with
standing and kneeling so long after his walk, that he was glad to
lean against the wall and take out the piece of bread that Patience
had put in his wallet.

Presently a step came near, and from under a round velvet skull-cap a
kind old face looked at him which he knew to be that of the Dean.

"Is that all your Christmas meal, my good boy?" he asked.

"I shall have something for supper, thank your reverence," replied
Steadfast, taking off his leathern cap.

"Well, mayhap you could away with something more," said the Dean.
"Come with me."

And as Steadfast obeyed, he asked farther, "What is your name, my
child? I know your face in church, but not in town."

"No, sir, I do not live here. I am Steadfast Kenton, and I am from
Elmwood, but we have no prayers nor sermon there since they took the
parson away."

"Ah! good Master Holworth! Alas! my child, I fear you will scarce
see him back again till the King be in London once more, which Heaven
grant. And, meantime, Sir George Elmwood being patron, none can be
intruded into his room. It is a sore case, and I fear me the case of
many a parish besides."

Steadfast was so much moved by the good Dean's kindness as to begin
to consider whether it would be betraying the trust to consult him
about that strange treasure in the cave, but the lad was never quick
of thought, and before he could decide one of the canons joined the
Dean, and presently going up the steps to the great hall of the
Deanery, Steadfast saw long tables spread with snowy napkins,
trenchers laid all round, and benches on which a numerous throng were
seating themselves, mostly old people and little children, looking
very poor and ragged. Steadfast held himself to be a yeoman in a
small way, and somewhat above a Christmas feast with the poor, but
the Dean's kindness was enough to make him put away his pride, and
then there was such a delicious steam coming up from the buttery
hatch as was enough to melt away all nonsense of that sort from a
hungry lad.

Grand joints of beef came up in clouds of vapour, and plum puddings
smoked in their rear, to be eaten with them, after the fashion of
these days, when of summer vegetables there were few, and of winter
vegetables none. The choirmen and boys, indeed all the Cathedral
clergy who were unmarried, were dining there too, but the Dean and
his wife waited on the table where the poorest were. Horns of ale
were served to everyone, and then came big mince pies. Steadfast
felt a great longing to take his home to his sisters, but he was
ashamed to do it, even though he saw that it was permissible, they
were such beggarly-looking folks who set the example.

However, the Dean's wife came up to him with a pleasant smile and
asked if he had no appetite or if he were thinking of someone at
home, and when he answered, she kindly undertook to lend him a
basket, for which he might call after evensong, and in the basket
were also afterwards found some slices of the beef and a fine large
cake.

Then the young Prince and his suite came in, and he stood at the end
of the hall, smiling and looking amused as everyone's cup was filled
with wine--such wine as the Roundhead captains had left, and the Dean
at the head of the table gave out the health of his most sacred
Majesty King Charles, might God bless him, and confound all his
enemies! The Prince bared his black shining locks and drank, and
there was a deep Amen, and then a hurrah enough to rend the old
vaulted ceiling; and equally enthusiastically was the Prince's health
afterwards drunk.

Stead heard the servants saying that such a meal had been a costly
matter, but that the good Dean would have it so in order that one
more true merry Christmas should be remembered in Bristol.

CHAPTER X.

A TERRIBLE HARVEST DAY.

"There is a reaper, whose name is death."
LONGFELLOW.

Spring came at last, cold indeed but dry, and it brought calves, and
kids, and lambs, and little pigs, besides eggs and milk. The
creatures prospered for two reasons no doubt. One was that Stead and
Patience always prayed for a blessing on them, and the other was that
they were almost as tender and careful over the dumb things as they
were over little Ben, who could now run about and talk. All that
year nothing particular happened to the children. Patience's good
butter and fresh eggs had come to be known in Bristol, and besides,
Stead and Rusha used to find plovers' eggs on the common, for which
the merchants' ladies would pay them, or later for wild strawberries
and for whortleberries. Stead could also make rush baskets and mats,
and they were very glad of such earnings, some of which they spent on
clothes, and on making their hut more comfortable, while some was
stored up in case of need in the winter.

For another year things went on much in the same manner, Bristol was
still kept by the King's troops; but when Steadfast went into the
place there was less cheerfulness among the loyal folk, and the
Puritans began to talk of victories of their cause, while in the
Cathedral the canon's voice trembled and grew choked in the prayer
for the King, and the sermons were generally about being true and
faithful to King and church whatever might betide. The Prince of
Wales had long since moved away, indeed there were reports that the
plague was in some of the low, crowded streets near the water, and
Patience begged her brother to take care of himself.

There had been no Christmas feast at the Deanery, it was understood
that the Dean thought it better not to bring so many people together.

Then as harvest time was coming on more soldiers came into the place.
They looked much shabbier than the troops of a year ago, their coats
were worn and soiled, and their feathers almost stumps, but they made
up for their poverty by swagger and noise, and Steadfast was thankful
that it was unlikely that any of them should find the way to his
little valley with what they called requisitions for the King's
service, but which meant what he knew too well. Some of the
villagers formed into bands, and agreed to meet at the sound of a
cowhorn, to drive anyone off on either side, who came to plunder, and
they even had a flag with the motto--

"If you take our cattle
We will give you battle."

And they really did drive off some stragglers. Stead, however,
accepted the offer from Tom Gates of a young dog, considerably larger
and stronger than poor old Toby, yellow and somewhat brindled, and
known as Growler. He looked very terrible, but was very civil to
those whom he knew, and very soon became devoted to all the family,
especially to little Ben. However, most of the garrison and the
poorer folk of the town were taken up with mending the weak places in
the walls, and digging ditches with the earth of which they made
steep banks, and there were sentries at the gates, who were not
always civil. Whatever the country people brought into the town was
eagerly bought up, and was paid for, not often in the coin of the
realm, but by tokens made of tin or some such metal with odd stamps
upon them, and though they could be used as money they would not go
nearly so far as the sums they were held to represent--at least in
anyone's hands but those of the officers.

There were reports that the Parliament army was about to besiege the
town, and Prince Rupert was coming to defend it. Steadfast was very
anxious, and would not let his sisters stir out of the valley,
keeping the cattle there as much as possible.

One day, when he had been sent for to help to gather in Lady
Elmwood's harvest, in the afternoon the reaping and binding were
suddenly interrupted by the distant rattle of musketry, such as had
been heard two years ago, in the time of the first siege but it was
in quite another direction from the town. Everyone left off work,
and made what speed they could to the top of the sloping field,
whence they could see what was going on.

"There they be!" shouted Tom Gates. "I saw 'em first! Hurrah! They
be at Luck's mill."

"Hush! you good-for-nothing," shrieked Bess Hart, throwing her apron
over her head. "When we shall all be killed and murdered."

"Not just yet, dame," said Master Brown. "They be a long way off,
and they have enow to do with one another. I wonder if Sir George be
there. He writ to my lady that he hoped to see her ere long."

"And my Roger," called out a woman. "He went with Sir George."

"And our Jack," was the cry of another; while Steadfast thought of
Jephthah, but knew he must be on the opposite side. From the top of
the field, they could see a wide sweep of country dipping down less
than two miles from them where there was a bridge over a small river,
a mill, and one or two houses near. On the nearer side of the river
could be seen the flash of steel caps, and a close, dark body of men,
on the further side was another force, mostly of horsemen, with what
seemed like waggons and baggage horses in the rear. They had what by
its colours seemed to be the English banner, the others had several
undistinguishable standards. Puffs of smoke broke from the windows
of the mill.

"Aye!" said Goodman Blane. "I would not be in Miller Luck's shoes
just now. I wonder where he is, poor rogue. Which side have got his
mill, think you, Master Brown?"

"The round-headed rascals for certain," said Master Brown, "and the
bridge too, trying to hinder the King's men from crossing bag and
baggage to relieve the town."

"See, there's a party drawing together. Is it to force the bridge?"

"Aye, aye, and there's another troop galloping up stream. Be they
running off, the cowards?"

"Not they. Depend on it some of our folks have told them of Colham
ford. Heaven be with them, brave lads."

"Most like Sir George is there, I don't see 'em."

"No, of course not, stupid, they'll be taking Colham Lane. See, see,
there's a lot of 'em drawn up to force the bridge. Good luck be with
them."

More puffs of smoke from the mill, larger ones from the bank, and a
rattle and roll came up to the watchers. There was a moment's shock
and pause in the assault, then a rush forward, and the distant sound
of a cheer, which those on the hill could not help repeating. But
from the red coats on and behind the bridge, proceeded a perfect
cloud of smoke, which hid everything, and when it began to clear away
on the wind, there seemed to be a hand-to-hand struggle going on upon
the bridge, smaller puffs, as though pistols were being used, and
forms falling over the parapet, at which sight the men held their
breath, and the women shrieked and cried "God have mercy on their
poor souls." And then the dark-coated troops seemed to be driven
back.

"That was a feint, only a feint," cried Master Brown. "See there!"

For the plumed troop of horsemen had indeed crossed, and came
galloping down the bank with such a jingling and clattering, and
thundering of hoofs as came up to the harvest men above, and Master
Brown led the cheer as they charged upon the compact mass of red
coats behind the bridge, and broke and rode them down by the
vehemence of the shock.

"Hurrah!" cried Blane. "Surely they will turn now and take the
fellows on the bridge in the rear. No. Ha! they are hunting them
down on to their baggage! Well done, brave fellows, hip! hip!--"

But the hurrah died on his lips as a deep low hum--a Psalm tune sung
by hundreds of manly voices--ascended to his ears, to the
accompaniment of the heavy thud of horsehoofs, and from the London
Road, between the bridge and the Royalist horsemen, there emerged a
compact body of troopers, in steel caps and corslets. Forming in
ranks of three abreast, they charged over the bridge, and speedily
cleared off the Royalists who were struggling to obtain a footing
there.

There was small speech on the hill side, as the encounter was
watched, and the Ironsides forming on the other side, charged the
already broken troops before they had time to rally, and there was
nothing to be seen but an utter dispersion and scattering of men,
looking from that distance like ants when their nest has been broken
into.

It was only a skirmish, not to be heard of in history, but opening
the way for the besiegers to the walls of Bristol, and preventing any
of the supplies from reaching the garrison, or any of the intended
reinforcements, except some of the eager Cavaliers, who galloped on
thither, when they found it impossible to return and guard the bridge
for their companions.

The struggle was over around the bridge in less than two hours, but
no more of Lady Elmwood's harvest was gathered in that evening. The
people watched as if they could not tear themselves from the
contemplation of the successful bands gathering together in their
solid masses, and marching onwards in the direction of Bristol,
leaving, however, a strong guard at the bridge, over which piled
waggons and beasts of burthen continued to pass, captured no doubt
and prevented from relieving the city. It began to draw towards
evening, and Master Brown was beginning to observe that he must go
and report to my lady, poor soul; and as to the corn, well, they had
lost a day gaping at the fight, and they must come up again to-
morrow, he only hoped they were not carting it for the round-headed
rogues; when at that moment there was a sudden cry, first of terror,
then of recognition, "Roger, Hodge Fitter! how didst come here?"

For a weary, worn-out trooper, with stained buff coat, and heavy
boots, stood panting among them. "I thought 'twas our folks," he
said. "Be mother here?"

"Hodge! My Hodge! Be'st hurt, my lad?" cried the mother, bursting
through the midst and throwing herself on him, while his father
contented himself with a sort of grunt. "All right, Hodge. How
com'st here?"

"And where's my Jack?" exclaimed Goody Bent.

"And where's our Harry?" was another cry from Widow Lakin.

While Stead longed to ask, but could not be heard in the clamour,
whether his brother had been there.

Hodge could tell little--seen less than the lookers on above. He had
been among those who had charged through the enemy, and ridden
towards Bristol, but his horse had been struck by a stray shot, and
killed under him. He had avoided the pursuers by scrambling through
a hedge, and then had thought it best to make his way through the
fields to his own home, until, seeing the party on the hill, he had
joined them, expecting to find his parents among them.

Sir George he knew to be on before him, and probably almost at
Bristol by this time. Poor Jack had been left weeks ago on the field
of Naseby, though there had been no opportunity of letting his family
know. "Ill news travels fast enough!" And as to Harry, he had been
shot down by a trooper near about the bridge, but mayhap might be
alive for all that.

"And my brother, Jeph Kenton," Steadfast managed to say. "Was he
there?"

"Jeph Kenton! Why, he's a canting Roundhead. The only Elmwood man
as is! More shame for him."

"But was he there?" demanded Stead.

"There! Well, Captain Venn's horse were there, and he was in them!
I have seen him more than once on outpost duty, prating away as if he
had a beard on his chin. I'd a good mind to put a bullet through him
to stop his impudence, for a disgrace to the place."

"Then he was in the fight?" reiterated Steadfast.

"Aye, was he. And got his deserts, I'll be bound, for we went smack
smooth through Venn's horse, like a knife through a mouldy cheese,
and left 'em lying to the right and left. If the other fellows had
but stuck by us as well, we'd have made a clean sweep of the canting
dogs."

Hodge's eloquence was checked by the not unwelcome offer of a drink
of cider.

"Seems quiet enough down there," said Nanny Lakin, peering wistfully
over the valley where the shadows of evening were spreading. "Mayhap
if I went down I might find out how it is with my poor lad."

"Nay, I'll go, mother," said a big, loutish youth, hitherto silent;
"mayn't be so well for womenfolk down there."

"What's that to me, Joe, when my poor Harry may be lying a bleeding
his dear life out down there?"

"There's no fear," said Hodge. "To give them their due, the
Roundheads be always civil to country folk and women--leastways
unless they take 'em for Irish--and thinking that, they did make
bloody work with the poor ladies at Naseby. But the dame there will
be safe enough," he added, as she was already on the move down hill.
"Has no one a keg of cider to give her? I know what 'tis to lie
parching under a wound."

Someone produced one, and as her son shouted "Have with you, mother,"
Steadfast hastily asked Tom Oates to let Patience know that he was
gone to see after Jephthah, and joined Ned Lakin and his mother.

Jeph had indeed left his brothers and sisters in a strange, wild way,
almost cruel in its thoughtlessness; but to Stead it had never seemed
more than that elder brotherly masterfulness that he took as a matter
of course, and there was no resting in the thought of his lying
wounded and helpless on the field--nay, the assurance that Hodge
shouted out that the rebel dogs took care of their own fell on
unhearing or unheeding ears, as Steadfast and Ned Lakin dragged the
widow through a gap in the hedge over another field, and then made
their way down a deep stony lane between high hedges.

It was getting dark, in spite of the harvest moon, by the time they
came out on the open space below, and began to see that saddest of
all sights, a battlefield at night.

A soldier used to war would perhaps have scorned to call this a
battle, but it was dreadful enough to these three when they heard the
sobbing panting, and saw the struggling of a poor horse not quite
dead, and his rider a little way from him, a fine stout young man,
cold and stiff, as Nanny turned up his face to see if it was her
Harry's.

A little farther on lay another figure on his back, but as Nanny
stooped over it, a lantern was flashed on her and a gruff voice
called out, "Villains, ungodly churls, be you robbing the dead?" and
a tall man stood darkly before them, pistol in hand.

"No, sir; no, sir," sobbed out Nanny. "I am only a poor widow woman,
come down to see whether my poor lad be dead or alive and wanting his
mother."

"What was his regiment?" demanded the soldier in a kinder voice.

"Oh, sir, your honour, don't be hard on him--he couldn't help it--he
went with Sir George Elmwood."

"That makes no odds, woman, when a man's down," said the soldier.
"Unless 'tis with the Fifth Monarchy sort, and I don't hold with
them. I have an uncle and a cousin or two among the malignants, as
good fellows as ever lived--no Amalekites and Canaanites--let Smite-
them Derry say what he will. Elmwood! let's see--that was the troop
that forded higher up, and came on Fisher's corps. This way, dame.
If your son be down, you'll find him here; that is, unless he be
carried into the mill or one of the houses. Most of the wounded lie
there for the night, but the poor lads that are killed must be buried
to-morrow. Take care, dame," as poor Nanny cried out in horror at
having stumbled over a dead man's legs. He held his lantern so that
she could see the face while she groaned out, "Poor soul." And thus
they worked their sad way up to the buildings about the water mill.
There was a shed through the chinks of which light could be seen, and
at the door of which a soldier exclaimed--

"Have ye more wounded, Sam? There's no room for a dog in here. They
lie as thick as herrings in a barrel."

"Nay, 'tis a poor country woman come to look for her son. What's his
name? Is there a malignant here of the name of Harry Lakin?"

The question was repeated, and a cry of gladness, "Mother! mother!"
ended in a shriek of pain in the distance within.

"Aye, get you in, mother, get you in. A woman here will be all the
better, be she who she may."

The permission was not listened to. Nanny had already sprung into
the midst of the mass of suffering towards the bloody straw where her
son was lying.

Steadfast, who had of course looked most anxiously at each of the
still forms on the way, now ventured to say:--

"So please you, sir, would you ask after one Jephthah Kenton? On
your own side, sir, in Captain Venn's troop? I am his brother."

"Oh, ho! you are of the right sort, eh?" said the soldier. "Jephthah
Kenton. D'ye know aught of him, Joe?"

"I heard him answer to the roll call before Venn's troop went off to
quarters," replied the other man. "He is safe and sound, my lad, and
Venn's own orderly."

Steadfast's heart bounded up. He longed still to know whether poor
Harry Lakin was in very bad case, but it was impossible to get in to
discover, and he was pushed out of the way by a party carrying in
another wounded man, whose moans and cries were fearful to listen to.
He thought it would be wisest to make the best of his way home to
Patience, and set her likewise at rest, for who could tell what she
might not have heard.

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