Boscobel: or, the royal oak

"I know well what my doom will be, and am prepared for it," said Urso. "Before I am taken hence let me look for the last time upon my wife."

Careless signed to the guard to bring him forward.

Poor Mary was still lying in the chair in which she had been placed, and was tended by the hostess and a female servant, who had come into the room. A handkerchief had been bound round her arm by Careless to stanch the blood.

The prisoner gazed at her for some moments with a look of unutterable affection.

"She will live," he murmured. "Heaven be thanked I have not killed her!"

"No, thou art spared that crime," said Careless. "She is not much hurt."

Bending down, Urso kissed her pallid brow. The contact of his lips caused her to open her eyes, but on beholding him she shuddered, and immediately closed them.

With a sharp pang Urso turned away.

Attended by the guard, the prisoner was taken at once to the Commandery.

Though it was now close upon daybreak, Charles had not retired to rest. He was so much disturbed by the result of the night attack that, feeling he could not sleep, he remained in converse with Middleton and the two other unsuccessful commanders.

The king and his companions were in the refectory, when Careless entered and informed his majesty that he had captured the spy.

He then explained how the arrest had been accomplished, and after giving the king all needful particulars, the prisoner was introduced.

Urso Gives did not seem at all intimidated by the presence in which he stood, but maintained a resolute demeanour. General Middleton at once recognised him as the eavesdropper he had noticed in the garden.

When interrogated by Charles, the prisoner refused to answer any questions, and though threatened by Middleton with the thumbscrew, declared, with a firmness that carried conviction with it, that no torture should force him to make a confession.

After hearing Careless's relation, confirmed as it was by various circumstances, and, above all, by the discovery on the person of the prisoner of an order in Cromwell's handwriting, Charles could entertain no doubt of Urso's guilt. He ordered him to be hanged at mid-day on the Sidbury-gate, so that the spectacle of his ignominious death might be witnessed by the rebel army.

The prisoner, who heard his sentence without betraying the slightest emotion, was then removed, and taken by the guard to Edgar's Tower, where the king had ordered him to be kept till the hour appointed for his execution.

CHAPTER XXI.

SHOWING HOW DAME GIVES BECAME A WIDOW

Careless did not lose sight of the prisoner until he had seen him safely bestowed in Edgar's Tower. With the strictest injunctions to watch carefully over him, he then committed him to the custody of Martin Vosper, who, it may be remembered, was one of the party that bivouacked on Pitchcroft on the night of the Grand Muster. Vosper had since been promoted to the rank of lieutenant. Placed in the strong room in which Dr. Crosby had been confined by Colonel James, Urso immediately threw himself upon the pallet that formed part of the scanty furniture, and, being greatly fatigued, soon fell asleep. But his slumber was disturbed by fearful dreams, and his broken exclamations seemed to have reference to some dark deed he had committed. These muttered words attracted the attention of Lieutenant Vosper, who remained with him in the chamber. From the first Vosper had been struck with the prisoner's resemblance to the spy whom he and Trubshaw – now a corporal – had pursued, and he now felt sure he was the same individual.

While the wretched sleeper was muttering some incoherent words, but amidst which the name "Wicked Will" was plainly to be distinguished, Vosper stepped up to the couch and shook him violently.

Thus roused, the guilty wretch started up, looking the picture of horror and despair. His hue was death-like, his eyes stared wildly, and cold drops gathered thickly upon his brow.

"Lighten your breast of its heavy load," said Vosper. "When you played the spy on me and my comrades at Pitchcroft, you cried out in a solemn voice that Wicked Will's death was a judgment. But you neglected to tell us who was the instrument of the judgment. Supply the information now. Who drowned him in the Severn?"

"Not I," replied Urso, shuddering. "If I have talked in my sleep, as I do sometimes, my words must not be taken against me."

"Die not with a lie on thy lips," said Vosper. "Since thou art certain to be hanged, give yourself a chance hereafter, by confession and repentance."

"I will not confess my transgressions to thee," rejoined Urso. "If I may have some godly man to pray with me, I will lay bare my breast to him. I would fain see the Reverend Laban Foxe, who hath known me long and well."

"And needs not to be told of thine iniquities, I'll be sworn," said Vosper. "I know the Reverend Laban, and a cunning old fox he is – his name suits him perfectly."

"A sorry jest, and ill-timed," said Urso. "Shall I see him?"

"Content thee – thou shalt."

"I thank thee," replied Urso. "In return, I will tell thee how Captain Hodgkins perished. Though I hated him as a bloodthirsty and wicked malignant, I did not compass his destruction. One evening, about dusk, he was staggering along the bank of the Severn, raging and roaring from strong drink, when he fell into the river."

"Wretch! you pushed him in," said Vosper, sternly.

"No," rejoined Urso. "It happened as I have said. I was standing by, and could have saved him had I stretched out my hand. But I hated him, and let him drown. Ah! I shall never forget his agonised, imploring looks, for the cold water had sobered him. I can see him now," he added, covering his eyes, as if to exclude some terrible object.

"With such a crime on thy conscience, no wonder thou canst not sleep soundly," said Vosper, regarding him with mingled pity and abhorrence.

"Thou sayst truly," rejoined the wretched man. "Since that night I have not been able to lay me down in peace. But I shall soon sleep the quiet and unbroken sleep of death."

"Hast thou aught more to tell me?" asked Vosper, after a pause.

"Ay, I will tell thee of another matter, though I feel no remorse for it," rejoined Urso. "Not many days ago I laid an ambush for thy king on one of the Malvern Hills, which he was foolish enough to ascend in company with Major Careless, whom I bitterly hate. Had I captured Charles Stuart, as I hoped to do, I should not be a prisoner here; and, better than all, I should have been avenged of Careless."

"I heard of his majesty's providential escape," said Vosper. "But I knew not that thou wert the contriver of the ambuscade."

"I can talk no more," said Urso. "I pray thee fulfil thy promise to let me see the godly man I have named."

Lieutenant Vosper immediately opened the door, and conferred for a moment with Corporal Trubshaw, who was standing outside.

This done, he re-entered the room.

Nearly an hour, however, elapsed before the corporal appeared with the Independent minister, and during this interval Urso turned his face to the wall, and maintained a profound silence, which Vosper did not care to interrupt.

The Reverend Laban Foxe was a sour-visaged old man. He wore a tall steeple-crowned hat and a long black cloak, but his attire had nothing of the divine about it.

He seemed much moved on beholding Urso, who rose from the pallet on his entrance, and a sad greeting took place between them.

The minister prayed to be left alone with the prisoner. Vosper assented and withdrew, but after awhile, thinking time enough had been allowed, he returned, and found Urso listening to the words of consolation addressed to him.

He therefore again retired, but returning after another long interval, and finding the exhortation still going on, he deemed it necessary to interrupt it.

"Since you sincerely repent of your sins, my son, I need say no more," observed the minister. "Bear your cross with resignation. Godly sorrow, like yours, worketh repentance to salvation." After a moment's pause he added, "But have you no message for your wife?"

"May I not see her?" cried Urso, casting an imploring look at Vosper, who made no reply.

"Alas! she cannot come to you, my son, even were she permitted," interposed the minister. "Her wound is not dangerous, but she has not strength for the painful interview."

"'Tis better thus!" exclaimed Urso, in a voice that betrayed profound emotion. "The parting with her would be a greater pang than death itself. Bid her an eternal farewell from me, and say to her – "

And he stopped.

"What must I add, my son?" inquired the minister.

"Say that I have left her a good legacy," rejoined Urso.

"Know you not that any money you may have bequeathed her will be forfeited?" remarked Vosper.

"Forfeited to whom?" demanded the prisoner.

"To whom should it be forfeited except to the king?" rejoined Vosper.

"I am easy on that score," said Urso. "Charles Stuart will not keep this money from her. The provision I have made is secure. Tell her so," he added to the minister. "She may not understand my meaning now, but she will understand it hereafter."

"Your words shall be faithfully repeated," said the Reverend Laban. "Farewell, my son!"

And with an earnest look at the prisoner, he departed.

When the hour fixed for the execution approached, a strong mounted guard was drawn up in front of the beautiful old gateway. Without a moment's delay, the prisoner was brought forth by Lieutenant Vosper, Corporal Trubshaw, and a party of halberdiers, who marched on either side of him.

Urso was bareheaded, his hands tied behind him, and a rope coiled round his neck. Before him walked the hangman – a caitiff apparently chosen for the revolting office from his savage and repulsive looks. The mounted guard, previously mentioned, rode on in front to clear the way.

As the cortége passed slowly down Edgar-street and along Sidbury-street, Urso's appearance was everywhere greeted with yells and execrations, and if the infuriated concourse could have reached him, the hangman would have been spared a labour. Ever since it had become known that the night attack had been betrayed, the greatest indignation was manifested by the citizens, who demanded that the severest punishment should be inflicted on the traitor. Mere hanging was too good for him. They would have him drawn and quartered, and his head fixed on the Sidbury-gate, that Old Noll might see it.

Though Urso had nerved himself to the utmost, he was not equal to the terrible ordeal he was exposed to, and his agony during the march to the place of execution was far greater than that which he subsequently endured.

At length the Sidbury-gate was reached, and being taken inside the structure, he was for some minutes lost to sight.

The spectators awaited his reappearance with a fierce impatience, which they did not seek to control or disguise. The large area in front of the Sidbury-gate, which has been described as surrounded by the new fortifications, was crowded with soldiers; the ramparts of Fort Royal, the walls, the towers, were likewise thronged by soldiers. But there were hundreds, nay, thousands, of distant spectators of the tragic scene.

On the top of the Sidbury-gate a gallows had been reared. So lofty was it, that it could be seen from most parts of the city, while it formed a conspicuous object to the enemy on the heights.

Towards this extraordinary gallows every eye was now directed. Deep silence pervaded the vast assemblage.

At length the hangman came forth, and, climbing the long ladder quickly, seated himself astride on the transverse bar of the gallows, and proceeded deliberately to fasten the fatal rope to it.

While he was thus occupied, the prisoner appeared, still guarded by Lieutenant Vosper, Trubshaw, and the halberdiers, and his appearance was the signal for a renewal of the terrible outcries that had before assailed him. He bore them undauntedly, continuing perfectly motionless, until the executioner called out from above that all was ready. He then sprang quickly up the ladder, as if eager to meet his doom.

In another minute all was over, and his body swinging in mid air; while a universal groan – though not a groan of pity – burst from the spectators.

Thus died the traitor Gives, whose name is still execrated in faithful Worcester.

At the moment when Urso was launched into eternity, the discharge of a cannon from Fort Royal informed Cromwell that the spy he had employed had been punished with death.

Cromwell, who was with Lilburn and Lord Grey of Groby on Perry Wood at the time, could not control his rage.

"The man's execution is justified by the laws of war," he said; "but it shall cost the citizens of Worcester dear. The great service he rendered us last night shall be requited as he desired. His widow shall have the reward I intended for him."

"How much is it to be?" asked Lord Grey.

"Two hundred pounds, and a pension of two hundred a year," replied Cromwell.

"A good reward, in sooth," said Lord Grey. "She will be well consoled for his loss."

CHAPTER XXII.

HOW THE EARL OF DERBY ARRIVED AT WORCESTER

The end of August had arrived. The anniversary of the battle of Dunbar – fought on the 3rd of September, 1650 – was close at hand. Cromwell, as we have shown, had resolved to wait for this auspicious day, if he should not be forced by the king to accept a battle sooner. But Charles had been so much discouraged by the failure of the camisade that he hesitated – perhaps too long – before risking a general engagement. A few unimportant skirmishes had taken place between the outposts, sometimes with advantage to one party, sometimes to the other, but these were all.

The interval was employed by Cromwell in making strong intrenchments at Perry Wood, where he had mounted a battery with heavy guns. As this battery threatened Fort Royal and the city, Charles was eager to attack it, but was dissuaded from the hazardous attempt by his generals. The jealousies among the Royalist leaders, already alluded to, had increased in bitterness, and, in consequence of these disputes, which he found it impossible to check, he could form no plan with the certainty of carrying it out. All his designs were frustrated.

Cromwell, on the other hand, took counsel from no one. His instructions were implicitly obeyed. What his precise plans now were could only be conjectured. They were known to Lambert, Fleetwood, Ingoldsby, and the generals stationed at Upton, but to no others.

Charles had recently changed his quarters, and had removed to the ancient mansion belonging to the mayor, where he enjoyed greater privacy than he could command at the palace. The residence he had chosen is one of the largest old houses in the city, and stands at the north end of New-street, looking into the Corn Market. Over the porch is the appropriate inscription, "Love God – Honour the King." Here he could retire when completely worn out by the ceaseless toils of the day, certain of being undisturbed.

On the evening of Monday, the 1st of September, he was seated in a large old-fashioned room on the ground floor of the ancient mansion referred to. The dark oak panels were hung with tapestry, and the cumbrous oak furniture was of Elizabeth's time. He had just dined, but had eaten little, and was in a very despondent mood. Careless, who was in attendance, filled a large silver goblet with claret, and handed it to him. The king raised the cup to his lips, but set it down untasted.

"I never saw your majesty so downcast before," remarked Careless. "A cup of wine will cheer you. The claret is good, I'll answer for it, for I have emptied a flask."

"Wine will not rouse my spirits," rejoined Charles, gloomily. "I am quite worn out. I will hold no more councils of war. They are utterly unprofitable. There is no deliberation – no unanimity of opinion – each plan, however promising, is violently opposed. What will be the end of it all? – certain defeat."

"Yes, I own your generals are difficult to manage, my liege," replied Careless. "But you humour them too much, and in consequence they presume on your good-nature, and disregard your authority. Enforce obedience to your commands. That is Old Noll's plan."

"Would you have me resemble him?" cried Charles.

"Yes, in that particular, my liege. He would not be where he now is if he were not absolute. At your next council explain your plans, but do not allow them to be discussed."

"Why summon a council at all, if those composing it are not to deliberate?"

"Merely that your generals may hear the expression of your will."

"Well, thy notion is not a bad one," replied Charles, smiling for the first time.

"Let no one speak but yourself, my liege, and there can be no wrangling, no contention."

"That is indisputable," said Charles.

At this moment a sound was heard in the passage.

"Some one is without!" exclaimed the king. "But be it whom it may, I will not be disturbed."

Thereupon Careless left the chamber, but almost immediately returned.

"I have disobeyed your majesty," he said; "but I am sure you will pardon me."

As the very distinguished-looking personage who had entered with him advanced slowly towards the king, Charles perceived who he was, and sprang forward, exclaiming:

"Welcome, my dear Lord Derby! Welcome to Worcester! Of all men living you are the one I most desired to see. Once more, welcome! You have arrived most opportunely. We are on the eve of a great battle – a battle that must decide my fate! – and I could not have fought it successfully without you."

"Thank Heaven I have arrived in time!" cried the earl. "I was aware that a battle was imminent, and almost despaired of reaching Worcester in time to take part in it; but here I am at last, ready to fight for your majesty."

"You can do more than merely fight for me, my lord," said Charles. "You can give me the benefit of your advice. I sadly want a counsellor."

"I fancied you had already too many counsellors, sire," observed the earl.

"Nay, that is true," rejoined Charles. "But I want a leader like yourself – entirely devoted to me – one who will not thwart me. Heaven has sent you to me at the right moment, and my hopes are now revived."

"If I had not been protected by Heaven, I could not have overcome the difficulties I have had to encounter in coming hither, my liege," replied the Earl of Derby.

"Have you quite recovered from the hurts you got at Wigan, my dear lord?' asked the king, anxiously.

"Not entirely, my liege," replied the earl. "Six-and-twenty wounds are not cured in a week. But I am able to sit a horse, and wield a sword. Finding myself strong enough for the journey, I left Boscobel this morn, attended by Captain Giffard of Chillington and his brother, with a dozen of their retainers. We got on without accident or interruption, till within a few miles of Worcester, and though we had quitted the high road, and taken to the fields and lanes in order to avoid the enemy, we were discovered by a party of skirmishers, and chased almost to the gates of the city. We found the Foregate walled up, and so entered by St. Martin's-gate."

"The Foregate has been walled up as a matter of precaution," said Charles. "But you look pale, my good lord. Be seated, I beg of you. A cup of wine, Careless."

The earl emptied the goblet proffered him.

"That has marvellously restored me," he said. "I did feel somewhat faint and exhausted after my long ride."

The colour was now, in some degree, restored to the earl's pallid countenance, but as Charles gazed at him with deep interest, he saw how severely he still suffered from his numerous wounds.

Never did the spirit of loyalty burn more strongly in any breast than in that of James Stanley, seventh Earl of Derby. This is sufficiently proved by the earl's haughty response to Ireton, when summoned to surrender the Isle of Man to the Parliament. "I have received your letter with indignation," he wrote, "and with scorn I return you this answer, that I cannot but wonder whence you should gather any hopes from me that I should, like you, prove traitorous to my sovereign, since you cannot be insensible of my former actings in his late majesty's service, from which principle of loyalty I am in no way departed. I scorn your proffers; I disdain your favours; I abhor your treasons; and so far from delivering this Island to your advantage, I will keep it to your destruction. Take this final answer, and forbear any further solicitations, for if you trouble me with any more messages upon this occasion I will burn the paper and hang the messenger."

To Charles II. this loyal and chivalrous peer was as devoted as he had been to that monarch's martyred sire.

Born in 1606, the Earl of Derby was still in the prime of manhood, and was endowed with a frame of extraordinary vigour. Skilled in all athletic exercises, brave to a fault, prompt, determined, undismayed by danger, he would have been a great general but for his excessive rashness. Somewhat below the ordinary height, he was powerfully built and well proportioned. His features were cast in a large and noble mould, and his dark, deep-sunk eyes had a grave and thoughtful expression, that harmonised with his sombre and melancholy aspect. Baines, the historian of Lancashire, thus describes him: "His was one of the old Stanley faces which we love to look upon as they darken in their frames, and to associate with deeds of chivalry, as enduring as the history of that country with whose annals their names are so proudly connected."

The Earl of Derby was married to Charlotte, daughter of Claude de la Tremouille, Duke of Thuars, and through this union he became allied to the royal houses of Nassau and Bourbon. The Countess of Derby was exceedingly beautiful, and her high spirit was equal to her beauty. Her heroic defence of Latham House for four months against the Parliamentarian forces is one of the most memorable incidents of the Civil Wars.

Such was the seventh Earl of Derby, not the least illustrious of a long and illustrious line. The earl's tragical end is well known, and it forms one of the darkest pages in the sanguinary annals of the period.

"I must now inquire after Roscarrock," observed the earl. "He is here, I trust. But I have heard nought of him since he left Boscobel."

"He arrived here safely nearly a week ago, and has well-nigh recovered from his wounds," replied Charles. "Go find him, and bring him here at once," he added to Careless.

"I shall only have to tell him that Lord Derby has arrived, and he will hurry hither," replied Careless, who instantly departed on his errand.

Left alone with the earl, Charles acquainted him with the present posture of affairs, and explained his difficulties to him. After listening with deep interest to all that was said by the king, the earl replied:

"I am sorry to find your majesty thus embarrassed, but I trust I shall be able to relieve you from your perplexities. I have some influence both with Hamilton and Buckingham, and I will use it to heal their differences. If they can be reconciled – and this shall be my first business – there will be little difficulty with the others, except perhaps with Lauderdale, but I will endeavour to soothe his wounded pride. This is not the moment for disputes. All quarrels must be settled after the battle."

"You give me fresh heart, my dear lord," cried Charles. "I was in despair, but you have restored my confidence. With my father's best and staunchest friend by my side, I shall yet triumph."

Just then the door opened, and Roscarrock entered, followed by Careless. Joyful exclamations were uttered as the two companions-in-arms embraced each other. There was something so touching in their meeting that both Charles and Careless were moved by it.

As soon as the excitement caused by seeing the earl was over, Roscarrock made a reverence to the king, and said, in an apologetic tone:

"I trust your majesty will pardon me. I have been carried away by my feelings."

"The warmth of your feelings does you honour, colonel," observed Charles. "I am as rejoiced as yourself at the Earl of Derby's arrival. His presence will animate my troops. He will have the command of a regiment, and you will be with him."

"I thank your majesty," replied Roscarrock, bowing. "Heaven grant we may be more fortunate than we were at Wigan!"