Books: Under the Storm
C >>
Charlotte M. Yonge >> Under the Storm
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 | 6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14
The moon was shining brightly enough to make his way plain, but the
scene around was all the sadder and more ghastly in that pallid
light, which showed out the dark forms of man and horse, and what was
worse the white faces turned up, and those dark pools in which once
or twice he had slipped as he saw or fancied he saw movements that
made him shudder, while a poor dog on the other side of the stream
howled piteously from time to time.
Presently, as he came near a hawthorn bush which cast a strangely
shaped shadow, he heard a sobbing--not like the panting moan of a
wounded man, but the worn out crying of a tired child. He thought
some village little one must have wandered there, and been hemmed in
by the fight, and he called out--
"Is anyone there?"
The sobbing ceased for a moment and he called again, "Who is it? I
won't hurt you," for something white seemed to be squeezing closer
into the bush.
"Who are you for?" piped out a weak little voice.
"I'm no soldier," said Steadfast. "Come out, I'll take you home by-
and-by."
"I have no home!" was the answer. "I want father."
Steadfast was now under the tree, and could see that it was a little
girl who was sheltering there of about the same size as Rusha. He
tried to take her hand, but she backed against the tree, and he
repeated "Come along, I wouldn't hurt you for the world. Who is your
father? Where shall we find him?"
"My father is Serjeant Gaythorn of Sir Harry Blythedale's troopers,"
said the child, somewhat proudly, then starting again, "You are not a
rebel, are you?"
"No, I am a country lad," said Steadfast; "I want to help you. Come,
you can't stay here."
For the little hand she had yielded to him was cold and damp with the
September dews. His touch seemed to give her confidence, and when he
asked, "Can't I take you to your mother?" she answered--
"Mother's dead! The rascal Roundheads shot her over at Naseby."
"Poor child! poor child!" said Steadfast. "And you came on with your
father."
"Yes, he took me on his horse over the water, and told me to wait by
the bush till he came or sent for me, but he has not come, and the
firing is over and it is dark, and I'm so hungry."
Steadfast thought the child had better come home with him, but she
declared that father would come back for her. He felt convinced that
her father, if alive, must be in Bristol, and that he could hardly
come through the enemy's outposts, and he explained to her this view.
To his surprise she understood in a moment, having evidently much
more experience of military matters than he had, and when he further
told her that Hodge was at Elmwood, and would no doubt rejoin his
regiment at Bristol the next day, she seemed satisfied, and with the
prospect of supper before her, trotted along, holding Steadfast's
hand and munching a crust which he had found in his pouch, the
remains of the interrupted meal, but though at first it seemed to
revive her a good deal, the poor little thing was evidently tired
out, and she soon began to drag, and fret, and moan. The three miles
was a long way for her, and tired as he was, Steadfast had to take
her on his back, and when at last he reached home, and would have set
her down before his astonished sisters, she was fast asleep with her
head on his shoulder.
CHAPTER XI.
THE FORTUNES OF WAR.
"Hear and improve, he pertly cries,
I come to make a nation wise."
GAY
Very early in the morning, before indeed anyone except Patience was
stirring, Steadfast set forth in search of Roger Fitter to consult
him about the poor child who was fast asleep beside Jerusha; and
propose to him to take her into Bristol to find her father.
Hodge, who had celebrated his return by a hearty supper with his
friends, was still asleep, and his mother was very unwilling to call
him, or to think of his going back to the wars. However, he rolled
down the cottage stair at last, and the first thing he did was to
observe--
"Well, mother, how be you? I felt like a boy again, waking up in the
old chamber. Where's my back and breast-piece? Have you a cup of
ale, while I rub it up?"
"Now, Hodge, you be not going to put on that iron thing again, when
you be come back safe and sound from those bloody wars?" entreated
his mother.
"Ho, ho! mother, would you have me desert? No, no! I must to my
colours again, or Sir George and my lady might make it too hot to
hold you here. Hollo, young one, Stead Kenton, eh? Didst find thy
brother? No, I'll be bound. The Roundhead rascals have all the
luck."
"I found something else," said Steadfast, and he proceeded to tell
about the child while Dame Fitter stood by with many a pitying "Dear
heart!" and "Good lack!"
Hodge knew Serjeant Gaythorn, and knew that the poor man's wife had
been shot dead in the flight from Naseby; but he demurred at the
notion of encumbering himself with the child when he went into the
town. He suspected that he should have much ado to get in himself,
and if he could not find her father, what could he do with her?
Moreover, he much doubted whether the serjeant was alive. He had
been among those on whom the sharpest attack had fallen, and not many
of them had got off alive.
"What like was he?" said Steadfast. "We looked at a many of the poor
corpses that lay there. They'll never be out of my eyes again at
night!"
"A battlefield or two would cure that," grimly smiled Hodge.
"Gaythorn--he was a man to know again--had big black moustaches, and
had lost an eye, had a scar like a weal from a whip all down here
from a sword-cut at Long Marston."
"Then I saw him," said Stead, in a low voice. "Did he wear a green
scarf?"
"Aye, aye. Belonged to the Rangers, but they are pretty nigh all
gone now."
"Under the rail of the miller's croft," added Stead.
"Just so. That was where I saw them make a stand and go down like
skittles."
"Poor little maid. What shall I tell her?"
"Well, you can never be sure," said Hodge. "There was a man now I
thought as dead as a door nail at Newbury that charged by my side
only yesterday. You'd best tell the maid that if I find her father
I'll send him after her; and if not, when the place is quiet, you
might look at the mill and see if he is lying wounded there."
Steadfast thought the advice good, and it saved him from what he had
no heart to do, though he could scarcely doubt that one of those
ghastly faces had been the serjeant's.
When he approached his home he was surprised to hear, through the
copsewood, the sound of chattering, and when he came in sight of the
front of the hut, he beheld Patience making butter with the long
handled churn, little Ben toddling about on the grass, and two little
girls laughing and playing with all the poultry round them.
One, of course, was stout, ruddy, grey-eyed Rusha, in her tight round
cap, and stout brown petticoat with the homespun apron over it; the
other was like a fairy by her side; slight and tiny, dressed in
something of mixed threads of white and crimson that shone in the
sun, with a velvet bodice, a green ribbon over it, and a gem over the
shoulder that flashed in the sun, a tiny scarlet hood from which such
a quantity of dark locks streamed as to give something the effect of
a goldfinch's crown, and the face was a brilliant little brown one,
with glowing cheeks, pretty little white teeth, and splendid dark
eyes.
Patience could have told that this bright array was so soiled,
rumpled, ragged, and begrimed, that she hardly liked to touch it, but
to Steadfast, who had only seen the child in the moonlight, she was a
wonderful vision in the morning sunshine, and his heart was struck
with a great pity at her clear, merry tones of laughter.
As he appeared in the open space, Toby running before him, the little
girl looked up and rushed to him crying out--
"It's you. Be you the country fellow who took me home? Where's
father?"
Stead was so sorry for her that he took her up in his arms and said--
"Hodge Fitter is gone into town to look for him, my pretty. You must
wait here till he comes for you," and he would have kissed her, but
she turned her head away, pouted, and said, "I didn't give you leave
to do that, you lubber lad."
Steadfast was much diverted. He was now a tall sturdy youth of
sixteen, in a short smock frock, long leathern gaiters, and a round
straw hat of Patience's manufacture, and he felt too clumsy for the
dainty little being, whom he hastened to set on her small feet--in
once smart but very dilapidated shoes. His sisters were somewhat
shocked at her impertinence and Rusha breathed out "Oh--!"
"I am to wait here for Serjeant Gaythorn," observed the little damsel
somewhat consequentially. "Well! it is a strange little makeshift of
a place, but 'tis the fortune of war, and I have been in worse."
"It is beautiful!" said Rusha, "now we have got a glass window--and a
real door--and beds--" all which recent stages in improvement she
enumerated with a gasp of triumph and admiration between each.
"So you think," said little Mistress Gaythorn. "But I have lived in
a castle."
She was quite ready to tell her history. Her name was Emlyn, and the
early part of the eight years of her life had been spent at Sir Harry
Blythedale's castle, where her father had been butler and her mother
my lady's woman. Sir Harry had gone away to the wars, and in his
absence my lady had held out the castle (perhaps it was only a
fortified house) against General Waller, hoping and hoping in vain
for Lord Goring to come to her relief.
"That was worst of all," said Emlyn, "we had to hide in the cellars
when they fired at us--and broke all the windows, and a shot killed
my poor dear little kitten because she wouldn't stay down with me.
And we couldn't get any water, except by going out at night; young
Master George was wounded at the well. And they only gave us a tiny
bit of dry bread and salt meat every day, and it made little Ralph
sick and he died. And at last there was only enough for two days
more--and a great breach--that's a hole," she added condescendingly,
--"big enough to drive my lady's coach-and-six through in the court
wall. So then my lady sent out Master Steward with one of the best
napkins on the end of a stick--that was a flag of truce, you know--
and all the rascal Roundheads had to come in, and we had to go out,
with only just what we could carry. My lady went in her coach with
Master George, because he was hurt, and the young ladies, and some of
the maids went home; but the most of us kept with my lady, to guard
her to go to his Honour and the King at Oxford. Father rode big
Severn, and mother was on a pillion behind him, with baby in her
arms, and I sat on a cushion in front."
After that, it seemed that my lady had found a refuge among her
kindred, but that the butler had been enrolled in his master's troop
of horse, and there being no separate means of support for his wife
and children, they had followed the camp, a life that Emlyn had
evidently enjoyed, although the baby died of the exposure. She had
been a great pet and favourite with everybody, and no doubt well-
cared for even after the sad day when her mother had perished in the
slaughter at Naseby. Patience wondered what was to become of the
poor child, if her father never appeared to claim her; but it was no
time to bring this forward, for Steadfast, as soon as he had
swallowed his porridge, had to go off to finish his day's labour for
the lady of the manor, warning his sisters that they had better keep
as close as they could in the wood, and not let the cattle stray out
of their valley.
He had not gone far, however, before he met a party of his fellow
labourers running home. Their trouble had been saved them. The
Roundhead soldiers had taken possession of waggons, horses, corn and
all, as the property of a malignant, and were carrying them off to
their camp before the town.
Getting up on a hedge, Stead could see these strange harvestmen
loading the waggons and driving them off. He also heard that Sir
George had come late in the evening, and taken old Lady Elmwood and
several of the servants into Bristol for greater safety. Then came
the heavy boom of a great gun in the distance.
"The Parliament men are having their turn now--as the King's men had
before," said Gates.
And all who had some leisure--or made it--went off to the church
tower to get a better view of the white tents being set up outside
the city walls, and the compact bodies of troops moving about as if
impelled by machinery, while others more scattered bustled like
insects about the camp.
Steadfast, however, went home, very anxious about his own three cows,
and seven sheep with their lambs, as well as his small patches of
corn, which, when green, had already only escaped being made forage
of by the Royalist garrison, because he was a tenant of the loyal
Elmwoods. These fields were exposed, though the narrow wooded ravine
might protect the small homestead and the cattle.
He found his new guest very happy cracking nuts, and expounding to
Rusha what kinds of firearms made the various sounds they heard.
Patience had made an attempt to get her to exchange her soiled finery
for a sober dress of Rusha's; but "What shall I do, Stead?" said the
grave elder sister, "I cannot get her to listen to me, she says she
is no prick-eared Puritan, but truly she is not fit to be seen."
Stead whistled. "Besides that she might bring herself and all of us
into danger with those gewgaws."
"That's true," said Stead. "Look you here, little maid--none can say
whether some of the rebel folk may find their way here, and they
don't like butterflies of your sort, you know. If you look a sober
little brown bee like Rusha here, they will take no notice, but who
knows what they might do it they found you in your bravery."
"Bravery," thought Patience, "filthy old rags, me seems," but she had
the prudence not to speak, and Emlyn nodded her head, saying, "I'll
do it for you, but not for her."
And when all was done, and she was transformed into a little russet-
robed, white-capped being, nothing would serve her, but to collect
all the brightest cranesbill flowers she could find, and stick them
in her own bodice and Rusha's.
Patience could not at all understand the instinct for bright colours,
but even little Ben shouted "Pretty, pretty."
Perhaps it was well that the delicate pink blossoms were soon faded
and crushed, and that twilight veiled their colours, for just as the
cattle were being foddered for the night, there was a gay step on the
narrow path, and with a start of terror, Patience beheld a tall
soldier, in tall hat, buff coat, and high boots before her; while
Growler made a horrible noise, but Toby danced in a rapture of
delight.
"Ha! little Patience, is't thou?"
"Jephthah," she cried, though the voice as well as the form were
greatly changed in these two years between boyhood and manhood.
"Aye, Jephthah 'tis," he said, taking her hand, and letting her kiss
him. "My spirit was moved to come and see how it was with you all,
and to shew how Heaven had prospered me, so I asked leave of absence
after roll-call, and could better be spared, as that faithful man,
Hold-the-Faith Jenkins, will exhort the men this night. I came up by
Elmwood to learn tidings of you. Ha, Stead! Thou art grown, my lad.
May you be as much grown in grace."
"You are grown, too," said Patience, almost timidly. "What a man you
are, Jeph! Here, Rusha, you mind Jeph, and here is little Benoni."
"You have reared that child, then," said Jeph, as the boy clung to
his sister's skirts, "and you have kept things together, Stead, as I
hardly deemed you would do, when I had the call to the higher
service." It was an odd sort of call, but there was no need to go
into that matter, and Stead answered gravely, "Yes, I thank God. He
has been very good to us, and we have fared well. Come in, Jeph, and
see, and have something to eat! I am glad you are come home at
last."
Jephthah graciously consented to enter the low hut. He had to bend
his tall figure and take off his steeple-crowned hat before he could
enter at the low doorway, and then they saw his closely cropped head.
Patience tarried a moment to ask Rusha what had become of Emlyn.
"She is hiding in the cow shed," was the answer. "She ran off as
soon as she saw Jeph coming, and said he was a crop-eared villain."
This was not bad news, and they all entered the hut, where the fire
was made up, and one of Patience's rush candles placed on the table
with a kind of screen of plaited rushes to protect it from the worst
of the draught. Jeph had grown quite into a man in the eyes of his
brothers and sisters. He looked plump and well fed, and his clothes
were good and fresh, and his armour bright, a contrast to Steadfast's
smock, stained with weather and soil, and his rough leathern
leggings, although Patience did her best, and his shirt was
scrupulously clean every Sunday morning.
The soldier was evidently highly satisfied. "So, children, you have
done better than I could have hoped. This hovel is weather-tight and
quite fit to harbour you. You have done well to keep together, and
it is well said that he who leaves all in the hands of a good
Providence shall have his reward."
Jeph's words were even more sacred than these, and considerably
overawed Patience, who, as he sat before her there in his buff coat
and belt, laying down the law in pious language, was almost persuaded
to believe that their present comfort and prosperity (such as it was)
was owing to the faith which he said had led to his desertion of his
family, though she had always thought it mere impatience of home work
fired by revenge for his father's death.
No doubt he believed in this reward himself, in his relief at finding
his brothers and sisters all together and not starving, and
considered their condition a special blessing due to his own zeal,
instead of to Steadfast's patient exertion.
He was much more disposed to talk of himself and the mercies he had
received, but which the tone of his voice showed him to consider as
truly his deserts. Captain Venn had, it seemed, always favoured him
from the time of his enlistment and nothing but his youth prevented
him from being a corporal. He had been in the two great battles of
Marston Moor and Naseby, and come off unhurt from each, and moreover
grace had been given him to interpret the Scriptures in a manner
highly savoury and inspiriting to the soldiery.
Here Patience, in utter amaze, could not help crying out "Thou, Jeph!
Thou couldst not read without spelling, and never would."
He waved his hand. "My sister, what has carnal learning to do with
grace?" And taking a little black Bible from within his breastplate,
he seemed about to give them a specimen, when Emlyn's impatience and
hunger no doubt getting the better of her prudence, she crept into
the room, and presently was seen standing by Steadfast's knee,
holding out her hand for some of the bread and cheese on the table.
"And who is this little wench?" demanded Jeph, somewhat displeased
that his brother manifested a certain inattention to his exhortation
by signing to Patience to supply her wants. Stead made unusual haste
to reply to prevent her from speaking.
"She is biding with us till she can join her father, or knows how it
is with him."
"Humph! She hath not the look of one of the daughters of our
people."
"Nay," said Steadfast. "I went down last night to the mill, Jeph, to
see whether perchance you might be hurt and wanting help, and after I
had heard that all was well with you, I lighted on this poor little
maid crouching under a bush, and brought her home with me for pity's
sake till I could find her friends."
"The child of a Midianitish woman!" exclaimed Jeph, "one of the Irish
idolaters of whom it is written, 'Thou shalt smite them, and spare
neither man, nor woman, infant, nor suckling.'" "But I am not
Irish," broke out Emlyn, "I am from Worcestershire. My father is
Serjeant Gaythorn, butler to Sir Harry Blythedale. Don't let him
kill me," she cried in an access of terror, throwing herself on
Steadfast's breast.
"No, no. He would not harm thee, on mine hearth. Fear not, little
one, he _shall_ not."
"Nay," said Jephthah, who, to do him justice, had respected the
rights of hospitality enough not to touch his weapon even when he
thought her Irish, "we harm not women and babes save when they are
even as the Amalekites. Let my brother go, child. I touch thee not,
though thou be of an ungodly seed; and I counsel thee, Steadfast,
touch not the accursed thing, but rid thyself thereof, ere thou be
defiled."
"I shall go so soon as father comes," exclaimed Emlyn. "I am sure I
do not want to stay in this mean, smoky hovel a bit longer than I can
help."
"Such are the thanks of the ungodly people," said Jeph, gravely
rising. "I must be on my way back. We are digging trenches about
this great city, assuredly believing that it shall be delivered into
our hands."
"Stay, Jeph," said Patience. "Our corn! Will your folk come and
cart it away as they have done my lady's?"
"The spoil of the wicked is delivered over to the righteous," said
Jeph. "But seeing that the land is mine, a faithful servant of the
good cause, they may not meddle therewith."
"How are they to know that?" said Steadfast, not stopping to dispute
what rather startled him, since though Jeph was the eldest son, the
land had been made over to himself. To save the crop was the point.
"Look you here," said Jeph, "walk down with me to my good Captain's
quarters, and he will give you a protection which you may shew to any
man who dares to touch aught that is ours, be it corn or swine, ox or
ass."
It was a long walk, but Steadfast was only too glad to take it for
the sake of such security, and besides, there was a real pleasure in
being with Jeph, little as he seemed like the same idle, easy-going
brother, except perhaps in those little touches of selfishness and
boastfulness, which, though Stead did not realise them, did recall
the original Jeph.
All through the moonlight walk Jeph expounded his singular mercies,
which apparently meant his achievements in killing Cavaliers, and the
commendations given to him. One of these mercies was the retention
of the home and land, though he kindly explained that his brothers
and sisters were welcome to get their livelihood there whilst he was
serving with the army, but some day he should come home "as one that
divideth the spoil," and build up the old house, unless, indeed, and
he glanced towards the sloping woods of Elmwood Manor, "the house and
fields of the malignants should be delivered to the faithful."
"My lady's house," said Steadfast under his breath.
"Wherefore not? Is it not written 'Goodly houses that ye builded
not.' Thou must hear worthy Corporal Hold-the-Faith expound the
matter, my brother."
They crossed the ferry and reached the outposts at last, and Stead
was much startled when the barrel of a musquet gleamed in the
moonlight, and a gruff voice said "Stand."
"The jawbone of an ass," promptly answered Jephthah.
"Pass, jawbone of an ass," responded the sentry, "and all's well.
But who have you here, comrade!"
Jeph explained, and they passed up the narrow lane, meeting at the
end of it another sentinel, with whom the like watchword was
exchanged, and then they came out on a large village green,
completely changed from its usual aspect by rows of tents, on which
the moonlight shone, while Jeph seemed to know his way through them
as well as if he were in the valley of Elmwood. Most of the men
seemed to be asleep, for snores issued from sundry tents. In others
there were low murmurings, perhaps of conversation, perhaps of
prayer, for once Stead heard the hum of an "Amen." One or two men
were about, and Jeph enquired of one if the Captain were still up,
and heard that he was engaged in exercise with the godly Colonel
Benbow.
Their quarters were in one of the best houses of the little village,
where light gleamed from the window, and an orderly stood within the
door, to whom Jeph spoke, and who replied that they were just in
time. In fact two officers in broad hats and cloaks were just coming
out, and Stead admired Jeph's military salute to them ere he entered
the farmhouse kitchen, where two more gentlemen sat at the table with
a rough plan of the town laid before them.
"Back again, Kenton," said his captain in a friendly tone. "Hast
heard aught of thy brethren?"
"Yes, sir, I have found them well and in good heart, and have brought
one with me."
"A helper in the good cause? Heaven be gracious to thee, my son.
Thou art but young, yet strength is vouchsafed to the feeble hands."
"Please, sir," said Steadfast, who was twisting his hat about, "I've
got to mind the others, and work for them."
"Yea, sir," put in Jeph, "there be three younger at home whom he
cannot yet leave. I brought him, sir, to crave from you a protection
for the corn and cattle that are in a sort mine own, being my
father's eldest son. They are all the poor children have to live
on."
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 | 6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14