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Woodstock; or, The Cavalier

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> Woodstock; or, The Cavalier




But the busy fiend in his breast would not be repulsed by the bold
answer. "Has thy resistance," it demanded, "availed thy country, Markham
Everard? Lies not England, after so much bloodshed, and so much misery,
as low beneath the sword of a fortunate soldier, as formerly under the
sceptre of an encroaching prince? Are Parliament, or what remains of
them, fitted to contend with a leader, master of his soldiers' hearts,
as bold and subtle as he is impenetrable in his designs! This General,
who holds the army, and by that the fate of the nation in his hand, will
he lay down his power because philosophy would pronounce it his duty to
become a subject?"

He dared not answer that his knowledge of Cromwell authorised him to
expect any such act of self-denial. Yet still he considered that in
times of such infinite difficulty, that must be the best government,
however little desirable in itself, which should most speedily restore
peace to the land, and stop the wounds which the contending parties were
daily inflicting on each other. He imagined that Cromwell was the only
authority under which a steady government could be formed, and therefore
had attached himself to his fortune, though not without considerable and
recurring doubts, how far serving the views of this impenetrable and
mysterious General was consistent with the principles under which he had
assumed arms.

While these things passed in his mind, Everard looked upon the packet
which lay on the table addressed to the Lord-General, and which he had
made up before sleep. He hesitated several times, when he remembered its
purport, and in what degree he must stand committed with that personage,
and bound to support his plans of aggrandizement, when once that
communication was in Oliver Cromwell's possession.

"Yet it must be so," he said at last, with a deep sigh. "Among the
contending parties, he is the strongest--the wisest and most moderate--
and ambitious though he be, perhaps not the most dangerous. Some one
must be trusted with power to preserve and enforce general order, and
who can possess or wield such power like him that is head of the
victorious armies of England? Come what will in future, peace and the
restoration of law ought to be our first and most pressing object. This
remnant of a parliament cannot keep their ground against the army, by
mere appeal to the sanction of opinion. If they design to reduce the
soldiery, it must be by actual warfare, and the land has been too long
steeped in blood. But Cromwell may, and I trust will, make a moderate
accommodation with them, on grounds by which peace may be preserved; and
it is to this which we must look and trust for a settlement of the
kingdom, alas! and for the chance of protecting my obstinate kinsman
from the consequences of his honest though absurd pertinacity."

Silencing some internal feelings of doubt and reluctance by such
reasoning as this, Markham Everard continued in his resolution to unite
himself with Cromwell in the struggle which was evidently approaching
betwixt the civil and military authorities; not as the course which, if
at perfect liberty, he would have preferred adopting, but as the best
choice between two dangerous extremities to which the times had reduced
him. He could not help trembling, however, when he recollected that his
father, though hitherto the admirer of Cromwell, as the implement by
whom so many marvels had been wrought in England, might not be disposed
to unite with his interest against that of the Long Parliament, of which
he had been, till partly laid aside by continued indisposition, an
active and leading member. This doubt also he was obliged to swallow or
strangle, as he might; but consoled himself with the ready argument,
that it was impossible his father could see matters in another light
than that in which they occurred to himself.

* * * * *

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.


Determined at length to dispatch his packet to the General without
delay, Colonel Everard approached the door of the apartment, in which,
as was evident from the heavy breathing within, the prisoner Wildrake
enjoyed a deep slumber, under the influence of liquor at once and of
fatigue. In turning the key, the bolt, which was rather rusty, made a
resistance so noisy, as partly to attract the sleeper's attention,
though not to awake him. Everard stood by his bedside, as he heard him
mutter, "Is it morning already, jailor?--Why, you dog, an you had but a
cast of humanity in you, you would qualify your vile news with a cup of
sack;--hanging is sorry work, my masters--and sorrow's dry."

"Up, Wildrake--up, thou ill-omened dreamer," said his friend, shaking
him by the collar.

"Hands off!" answered the sleeper.--"I can climb a ladder without help,
I trow."--He then sate up in the bed, and opening his eyes, stared
around him, and exclaimed, "Zounds! Mark, is it only thou? I thought it
was all over with me--fetters were struck from my legs--rope drawn round
my gullet--irons knocked off my hands--hempen cravat tucked on,--all
ready for a dance in the open element upon slight footing."

"Truce with thy folly, Wildrake; sure the devil of drink, to whom thou
hast, I think, sold thyself"--

"For a hogshead of sack," interrupted Wildrake; "the bargain was made in
a cellar in the Vintry."

"I am as mad as thou art, to trust any thing to thee," said Markham; "I
scarce believe thou hast thy senses yet."

"What should ail me?" said Wildrake--"I trust I have not tasted liquor
in my sleep, saving that I dreamed of drinking small-beer with Old Noll,
of his own brewing. But do not look so glum, man--I am the same Roger
Wildrake that I ever was; as wild as a mallard, but as true as a
game-cock. I am thine own chum, man--bound to thee by thy kind deeds--
_devinctus beneficio_--there is Latin for it; and where is the thing
thou wilt charge me with, that I wilt not, or dare not execute, were it
to pick the devil's teeth with my rapier, after he had breakfasted upon
round-heads?"

"You will drive me mad," said Everard.--"When I am about to intrust all
I have most valuable on earth to your management, your conduct and
language are those of a mere Bedlamite. Last night I made allowance for
thy drunken fury; but who can endure thy morning madness?--it is unsafe
for thyself and me, Wildrake--it is unkind--I might say ungrateful."

"Nay, do not say _that_, my friend," said the cavalier, with some show
of feeling; "and do not judge of me with a severity that cannot apply to
such as I am. We who have lost our all in these sad jars, who are
compelled to shift for our living, not from day to day, but from meal to
meal--we whose only hiding place is the jail, whose prospect of final
repose is the gallows,--what canst thou expect from us, but to bear such
a lot with a light heart, since we should break down under it with a
heavy one?"

This was spoken in a tone of feeling which found a responding string in
Everard's bosom. He took his friend's hand, and pressed it kindly.

"Nay, if I seemed harsh to thee, Wildrake, I profess it was for thine
own sake more than mine. I know thou hast at the bottom of thy levity,
as deep a principle of honour and feeling as ever governed a human
heart. But thou art thoughtless--thou art rash--and I protest to thee,
that wert thou to betray thyself in this matter, in which I trust thee,
the evil consequences to myself would not afflict me more than the
thought of putting thee into such danger."

"Nay, if you take it on that tone, Mark," said the cavalier, making an
effort to laugh, evidently that he might conceal a tendency to a
different emotion, "thou wilt make children of us both--babes and
sucklings, by the hilt of this bilbo.--Come, trust me; I can be cautious
when time requires it--no man ever saw me drink when an alert was
expected--and not one poor pint of wine will I taste until I have
managed this matter for thee. Well, I am thy secretary--clerk--I had
forgot--and carry thy dispatches to Cromwell, taking good heed not to be
surprised or choused out of my lump of loyalty, (striking his finger on
the packet,) and I am to deliver it to the most loyal hands to which it
is most humbly addressed--Adzooks, Mark, think of it a moment longer--
Surely thou wilt not carry thy perverseness so far as to strike in with
this bloody-minded rebel?--Bid me give him three inches of my
dudgeon-dagger, and I will do it much more willingly than present him
with thy packet."

"Go to," replied Everard, "this is beyond our bargain. If you will help
me it is well; if not, let me lose no time in debating with thee, since
I think every moment an age till the packet is in the General's
possession. It is the only way left me to obtain some protection, and a
place of refuge for my uncle and his daughter."

"That being the case," said the cavalier, "I will not spare the spur. My
nag up yonder at the town will be ready for the road in a trice, and
thou mayst reckon on my being with Old Noll--thy General, I mean--in as
short time as man and horse may consume betwixt Woodstock and Windsor,
where I think I shall for the present find thy friend keeping possession
where he has slain."

"Hush, not a word of that. Since we parted last night, I have shaped
thee a path which will suit thee better than to assume the decency of
language and of outward manner, of which thou hast so little. I have
acquainted the General that thou hast been by bad example and bad
education"--

"Which is to be interpreted by contraries, I hope," said Wildrake; "for
sure I have been as well born and bred up as any lad of Leicestershire
might desire."

"Now, I prithee, hush--thou hast, I say, by bad example become at one
time a malignant, and mixed in the party of the late King. But seeing
what things were wrought in the nation by the General, thou hast come to
a clearness touching his calling to be a great implement in the
settlement of these distracted kingdoms. This account of thee will not
only lead him to pass over some of thy eccentricities, should they break
out in spite of thee, but will also give thee an interest with him as
being more especially attached to his own person."

"Doubtless," said Wildrake, "as every fisher loves best the trouts that
are of his own tickling."

"It is likely, I think, he will send thee hither with letters to me,"
said the Colonel, "enabling me to put a stop to the proceedings of these
sequestrators, and to give poor old Sir Henry Lee permission to linger
out his days among the oaks he loves to look upon. I have made this my
request to General Cromwell, and I think my father's friendship and my
own may stretch so far on his regard without risk of cracking,
especially standing matters as they now do--thou dost understand?"

"Entirely well," said the cavalier; "stretch, quotha!--I would rather
stretch a rope than hold commerce with the old King-killing ruffian. But
I have said I will be guided by thee, Markham, and rat me but I will."

"Be cautious, then," said Everard, "mark well what he does and
says--more especially what he does; for Oliver is one of those whose
mind is better known by his actions than by his words; and stay--I
warrant thee thou wert setting off without a cross in thy purse?"

"Too true, Mark," said Wildrake; "the last noble melted last night among
yonder blackguard troopers of yours."

"Well, Roger," replied the Colonel, "that is easily mended." So saying,
he slipped his purse into his friend's hand. "But art thou not an
inconsiderate weather-brained fellow, to set forth as thou wert about to
do, without any thing to bear thy charges; what couldst thou have done?"

"Faith, I never thought of that; I must have cried _Stand_, I suppose,
to the first pursy townsman or greasy grazier that I met o' the
heath--it is many a good fellow's shift in these bad times."

"Go to," said Everard; "be cautious--use none of your loose
acquaintance--rule your tongue--beware of the wine-pot--for there is
little danger if thou couldst only but keep thyself sober--Be moderate
in speech, and forbear oaths or vaunting."

"In short, metamorphose myself into such a prig as thou art, Mark,--
Well," said Wildrake, "so far as outside will go, I think I can make a
_Hope-on-High-Bomby_ [Footnote: A puritanic character in one of Beaumont
and Fletcher's plays.] as well as thou canst. Ah! those were merry days
when we saw Mills present Bomby at the Fortune playhouse, Mark, ere I
had lost my laced cloak and the jewel in my ear, or thou hadst gotten
the wrinkle on thy brow, and the puritanic twist of thy mustache!"

"They were like most worldly pleasures, Wildrake," replied Everard,
"sweet in the mouth and bitter in digestion.--But away with thee; and
when thou bring'st back my answer, thou wilt find me either here or at
Saint George's Inn, at the little borough.--Good luck to thee--Be but
cautious how thou bearest thyself."

The Colonel remained in deep meditation.--"I think," he said, "I have
not pledged myself too far to the General. A breach between him and the
Parliament seems inevitable, and would throw England back into civil
war, of which all men are wearied. He may dislike my messenger--yet that
I do not greatly fear. He knows I would choose such as I can myself
depend on, and hath dealt enough with the stricter sort to be aware that
there are among them, as well as elsewhere, men who can hide two faces
under one hood."

* * * * *

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.


For there in lofty air was seen to stand
The stern Protector of the conquer'd land;
Draw in that look with which he wept and swore,
Turn'd out the members and made fast the door,
Ridding the house of every knave and drone,
Forced--though it grieved his soul--to rule alone.

THE FRANK COURTSHIP.--CRABBE.

Leaving Colonel Everard to his meditations, we follow the jolly
cavalier, his companion, who, before mounting at the George, did not
fail to treat himself to his morning-draught of eggs and muscadine, to
enable him to face the harvest wind.

Although he had suffered himself to be sunk in the extravagant license
which was practised by the cavaliers, as if to oppose their conduct in
every point to the preciseness of their enemies, yet Wildrake, well-born
and well-educated, and endowed with good natural parts, and a heart
which even debauchery, and the wild life of a roaring cavalier, had not
been able entirely to corrupt, moved on his present embassy with a
strange mixture of feelings, such as perhaps he had never in his life
before experienced.

His feelings as a loyalist led him to detest Cromwell, whom in other
circumstances he would scarce have wished to see, except in a field of
battle, where he could have had the pleasure to exchange pistol-shots
with him. But with this hatred there was mixed a certain degree of fear.
Always victorious wherever he fought, the remarkable person whom
Wildrake was now approaching had acquired that influence over the minds
of his enemies, which constant success is so apt to inspire--they
dreaded while they hated him--and joined to these feelings, was a
restless meddling curiosity, which made a particular feature in
Wildrake's character, who, having long had little business of his own,
and caring nothing about that which he had, was easily attracted by the
desire of seeing whatever was curious or interesting around him.

"I should like to see the old rascal after all," he said, "were it but
to say that I _had_ seen him."

He reached Windsor in the afternoon, and felt on his arrival the
strongest inclination to take up his residence at some of his old
haunts, when he had occasionally frequented that fair town in gayer
days. But resisting all temptations of this kind, he went courageously
to the principal inn, from which its ancient emblem, the Garter, had
long disappeared. The master, too, whom Wildrake, experienced in his
knowledge of landlords and hostelries, had remembered a dashing Mine
Host of Queen Bess's school, had now sobered down to the temper of the
times, shook his head when he spoke of the Parliament, wielded his
spigot with the gravity of a priest conducting a sacrifice, wished
England a happy issue out of all her difficulties, and greatly lauded
his Excellency the Lord-General. Wildrake also remarked, that his wine
was better than it was wont to be, the Puritans having an excellent gift
at detecting every fallacy in that matter; and that his measures were
less and his charges larger--circumstances which he was induced to
attend to, by mine host talking a good deal about his conscience.

He was told by this important personage, that the Lord-General received
frankly all sorts of persons; and that he might obtain access to him
next morning, at eight o'clock, for the trouble of presenting himself at
the Castle-gate, and announcing himself as the bearer of despatches to
his Excellency.

To the Castle the disguised cavalier repaired at the hour appointed.
Admittance was freely permitted to him by the red-coated soldier, who,
with austere looks, and his musket on his shoulder, mounted guard at the
external gate of that noble building. Wildrake passed through the
underward or court, gazing as he passed upon the beautiful Chapel, which
had but lately received, in darkness and silence, the unhonoured remains
of the slaughtered King of England. Rough as Wildrake was, the
recollection of this circumstance affected him so strongly, that he had
nearly turned back in a sort of horror, rather than face the dark and
daring man, to whom, amongst all the actors in that melancholy affair,
its tragic conclusion was chiefly to be imputed. But he felt the
necessity of subduing all sentiments of this nature, and compelled
himself to proceed in a negotiation intrusted to his conduct by one to
whom he was so much obliged as Colonel Everard. At the ascent, which
passed by the Round Tower, he looked to the ensign-staff, from which the
banner of England was wont to float. It was gone, with all its rich
emblazonry, its gorgeous quarterings, and splendid embroidery; and in
its room waved that of the Commonwealth, the cross of Saint George, in
its colours of blue and red, not yet intersected by the diagonal cross
of Scotland, which was soon after assumed, as if in evidence of
England's conquest over her ancient enemy. This change of ensigns
increased the train of his gloomy reflections, in which, although
contrary to his wont, he became so deeply wrapped, that the first thing
which recalled him to himself, was the challenge from the sentinel,
accompanied with a stroke of the butt of his musket on the pavement,
with an emphasis which made Wildrake start.

"Whither away, and who are you?"

"The bearer of a packet," answered Wildrake, "to the worshipful the
Lord-General."

"Stand till I call the officer of the guard."

The corporal made his appearance, distinguished above those of his
command by a double quantity of band round his neck, a double height of
steeple-crowned hat, a larger allowance of cloak, and a treble
proportion of sour gravity of aspect. It might be read on his
countenance, that he was one of those resolute enthusiasts to whom
Oliver owed his conquests, whose religious zeal made them even more than
a match for the high-spirited and high-born cavaliers, who exhausted
their valour in vain defence of their sovereign's person and crown. He
looked with grave solemnity at Wildrake, as if he was making in his own
mind an inventory of his features and dress; and having fully perused
them, he required "to know his business."

"My business," said Wildrake, as firmly as he could--for the close
investigation of this man had given him some unpleasant nervous
sensations--"my business is with your General."

"With his Excellency the Lord-General, thou wouldst say?" replied the
corporal. "Thy speech, my friend, savours too little of the reverence
due to his Excellency."

"D--n his Excellency!" was at the lips of the cavalier; but prudence
kept guard, and permitted not the offensive words to escape the barrier.
He only bowed, and was silent.

"Follow me," said the starched figure whom he addressed; and Wildrake
followed him accordingly into the guard-house, which exhibited an
interior characteristic of the times, and very different from what such
military stations present at the present day.

By the fire sat two or three musketeers, listening to one who was
expounding some religious mystery to them. He began half beneath his
breath, but in tones of great volubility, which tones, as he approached
the conclusion, became sharp and eager, as challenging either instant
answer or silent acquiescence. The audience seemed to listen to the
speaker with immovable features, only answering him with clouds of
tobacco-smoke, which they rolled from under their thick mustaches. On a
bench lay a soldier on his face: whether asleep, or in a fit of
contemplation, it was impossible to decide. In the midst of the floor
stood an officer, as he seemed by his embroidered shoulder-belt and
scarf round his waist, otherwise very plainly attired, who was engaged
in drilling a stout bumpkin, lately enlisted, to the manual, as it was
then used. The motions and words of command were twenty at the very
least; and until they were regularly brought to an end, the corporal did
not permit Wildrake either to sit down or move forward beyond the
threshold of the guard-house. So he had to listen in succession
to--Poise your musket--Rest your musket--Cock your musket--Handle your
primers--and many other forgotten words of discipline, until at length
the words, "Order your musket," ended the drill for the time. "Thy name,
friend?" said the officer to the recruit, when the lesson was over.

"Ephraim," answered the fellow, with an affected twang through the nose.

"And what besides Ephraim?"

"Ephraim Cobb, from the goodly city of Glocester, where I have dwelt for
seven years, serving apprentice to a praiseworthy cordwainer."

"It is a goodly craft," answered the officer; "but casting in thy lot
with ours, doubt not that thou shalt be set beyond thine awl, and thy
last to boot."

A grim smile of the speaker accompanied this poor attempt at a pun; and
then turning round to the corporal, who stood two paces off, with the
face of one who seemed desirous of speaking, said, "How now, corporal,
what tidings?"

"Here is one with a packet, an please your Excellency," said the
corporal--"Surely my spirit doth not rejoice in him, seeing I esteem him
as a wolf in sheep's clothing."

By these words, Wildrake learned that he was in the actual presence of
the remarkable person to whom he was commissioned; and he paused to
consider in what manner he ought to address him.

The figure of Oliver Cromwell was, as is generally known, in no way
prepossessing. He was of middle stature, strong and coarsely made, with
harsh and severe features, indicative, however, of much natural sagacity
and depth of thought. His eyes were grey and piercing; his nose too
large in proportion to his other features, and of a reddish hue.

His manner of speaking, when he had the purpose to make himself
distinctly understood, was energetic and forcible, though neither
graceful nor eloquent. No man could on such occasion put his meaning
into fewer and more decisive words. But when, as it often happened, he
had a mind to play the orator, for the benefit of people's ears, without
enlightening their understanding, Cromwell was wont to invest his
meaning, or that which seemed to be his meaning, in such a mist of
words, surrounding it with so many exclusions and exceptions, and
fortifying it with such a labyrinth of parentheses, that though one of
the most shrewd men in England, he was, perhaps, the most unintelligible
speaker that ever perplexed an audience. It has been long since said by
the historian, that a collection of the Protector's speeches would make,
with a few exceptions, the most nonsensical book in the world; but he
ought to have added, that nothing could be more nervous, concise, and
intelligible, than what he really intended should be understood.

It was also remarked of Cromwell, that though born of a good family,
both by father and mother, and although he had the usual opportunities
of education and breeding connected with such an advantage, the fanatic
democratic ruler could never acquire, or else disdained to practise, the
courtesies usually exercised among the higher classes in their
intercourse with each other. His demeanour was so blunt as sometimes
might be termed clownish, yet there was in his language and manner a
force and energy corresponding to his character, which impressed awe, if
it did not impose respect; and there were even times when that dark and
subtle spirit expanded itself, so as almost to conciliate affection. The
turn for humour, which displayed itself by fits, was broad, and of a
low, and sometimes practical character. Something there was in his
disposition congenial to that of his countrymen; a contempt of folly, a
hatred of affectation, and a dislike of ceremony, which, joined to the
strong intrinsic qualities of sense and courage, made him in many
respects not an unfit representative of the democracy of England.

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