Under the Storm

Patience was quite right. These times of danger were making everyone draw nearer together, and look up more heartily to Him in Whom was there true help.

But winter was coming on and bringing bad times for the poor children in their narrow valley, so close to the water. It was not a very cold season, but it was almost worse, for it was very wet. The little brook swelled, turned muddy yellow, and came rushing and tumbling along, far outside its banks, so that Patience wondered whether there could be any danger of its coming up to their hut and perhaps drowning them.

"I think there is no fear," said Steadfast. "You see this house has been here from old times and never got washed away."

"It wouldn't wash away very easily," said Patience, "I wish we were in one of the holes up there."

"If it looks like danger we might get up," said Steadfast, and to please her he cleared a path to a freshly discovered cave a little lower down the stream, but so high up on the rocky sides of the ravine as to be safe from the water.

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.