A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Woodstock; or, The Cavalier

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




"We are secure from the explosion," replied the knight, gravely, "which
will operate chiefly in a forward direction into the middle of the
chamber; and from any fragments that may fly laterally, we are
sufficiently guarded by this deep embrasure."

"But they will slay us when they enter," said Phoebe.

"They will give thee fair quarter, wench," said Sir Henry; "and if I do
not bestow a brace of balls on that rogue engineer, it is because I
would not incur the penalty inflicted by martial law, which condemns to
the edge of the sword all persons who attempt to defend an untenable
post. Not that I think the rigour of the law could reach Dame Jellicot
or thyself, Phoebe, considering that you carry no arms. If Alice had
been here she might indeed have done somewhat, for she can use a
birding-piece."

Phoebe might have appealed to her own deeds of that day, as more allied
to feats of mêlée and battle, than any which her young lady ever acted;
but she was in an agony of inexpressible terror, expecting, from the
knight's account of the petard, some dreadful catastrophe, of what
nature she did not justly understand, notwithstanding his liberal
communication on the subject.

"They are strangely awkward at it," said Sir Henry; "little Boutirlin
would have blown the house up before now.--Ah! he is a fellow would take
the earth like a rabbit--if he had been here, never may I stir but he
would have countermined them ere now, and

--''Tis sport to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petard.'

as our immortal Shakspeare has it."

"Oh, Lord, the poor mad old gentleman," thought Phoebe--"Oh, sir, had
you not better leave alone playbooks, and think of your end?" uttered
she aloud, in sheer terror and vexation of spirit.

"If I had not made up my mind to that many days since," answered the
knight, "I had not now met this hour with a free bosom--

'As gentle and as jocund as to rest,
Go I to death--truth hath a quiet breast.'"

As he spoke, a broad glare of light flashed from without, through the
windows of the hall, and betwixt the strong iron stanchions with which
they were secured--a broad discoloured light it was, which shed a red
and dusky illumination on the old armour and weapons, as if it had been
the reflection of a conflagration. Phoebe screamed aloud, and, forgetful
of reverence in the moment of passion, clung close to the knight's cloak
and arm, while Dame Jellicot, from her solitary niche, having the use of
her eyes, though bereft of her hearing, yelled like an owl when the moon
breaks out suddenly.

"Take care, good Phoebe," said the knight; "you will prevent my using my
weapon if you hang upon me thus.--The bungling fools cannot fix their
petard without the use of torches! Now let me take the advantage of this
interval.--Remember what I told thee, and how to put off time."

"Oh, Lord--ay, sir," said Phoebe, "I will say any thing, Oh, Lord, that
it were but over!--Ah! ah!"--(two prolonged screams)--"I hear something
hissing like a serpent."

"It is the fusee, as we martialists call it," replied the knight; "that
is, Phoebe, the match which fires the petard, and which is longer or
shorter, according to the distance."

Here the knight's discourse was cut short by a dreadful explosion,
which, as he had foretold, shattered the door, strong as it was, to
pieces, and brought down the glass clattering from the windows with all
the painted heroes and heroines, who had been recorded on that fragile
place of memory for centuries. The women shrieked incessantly, and were
answered by the bellowing of Bevis, though shut up at a distance from
the scene of action. The knight, shaking Phoebe from him with
difficulty, advanced into the hall to meet those who rushed in, with
torches lighted and weapons prepared.

"Death to all who resist--life to those who surrender!" exclaimed
Cromwell, stamping with his foot. "Who commands this garrison?"

"Sir Henry Lee of Ditchley," answered the old knight, stepping forward;
"who, having no other garrison than two weak women, is compelled to
submit to what he would willingly have resisted."

"Disarm the inveterate and malignant rebel," cried Oliver. "Art thou not
ashamed, sir, to detain me before the door of a house which you had no
force to defend? Wearest thou so white a beard, and knowest thou not,
that to refuse surrendering an indefensible post, by the martial law,
deserves hanging?"

"My beard and I," said Sir Henry, "have settled that matter between us,
and agree right cordially. It is better to run the risk of being hanged,
like honest men, than to give up our trust like cowards and traitors."

"Ha! say'st thou?" said Cromwell; "thou hast powerful motives, I doubt
not, for running thy head into a noose. But I will speak with thee by
and by.--Ho! Pearson, Gilbert Pearson, take this scroll--Take the elder
woman with thee--Let her guide you to the various places therein
mentioned--Search every room therein set down, and arrest, or slay upon
the slightest resistance, whomsoever you find there. Then note those
places marked as commanding points for cutting off intercourse through
the mansion--the landing-places of the great staircase, the great
gallery, and so forth. Use the woman civilly. The plan annexed to the
scroll will point out the posts, even if she prove stupid or refractory.
Meanwhile, the corporal, with a party, will bring the old man and the
girl there to some apartment--the parlour, I think, called Victor Lee's,
will do as well as another.--We will then be out of this stifling smell
of gunpowder."

So saying, and without requiring any farther assistance or guidance, he
walked towards the apartment he had named. Sir Henry had his own
feelings, when he saw the unhesitating decision with which the General
led the way, and which seemed to intimate a more complete acquaintance
with the various localities of Woodstock than was consistent with his
own present design, to engage the Commonwealth party in a fruitless
search through the intricacies of the Lodge.

"I will now ask thee a few questions, old man," said the General, when
they had arrived in the room; "and I warn thee, that hope of pardon for
thy many and persevering efforts against the Commonwealth, can be no
otherwise merited than by the most direct answers to the questions I am
about to ask."

Sir Henry bowed. He would have spoken, but he felt his temper rising
high, and became afraid it might be exhausted before the part he had
settled to play, in order to afford the King time for his escape, should
be brought to an end.

"What household have you had here, Sir Henry Lee, within these few
days--what guests--what visitors? We know that your means of
house-keeping are not so profuse as usual, so the catalogue cannot be
burdensome to your memory."

"Far from it," replied the knight, with unusual command of temper, "my
daughter, and latterly my son, have been my guests; and I have had these
females, and one Joceline Joliffe, to attend upon us."

"I do not ask after the regular members of your household, but after
those who have been within your gates, either as guests, or as malignant
fugitives taking shelter."

"There may have been more of both kinds, sir, than I, if it please your
valour, am able to answer for," replied the knight. "I remember my
kinsman Everard was here one morning--Also, I bethink me, a follower of
his, called Wildrake."

"Did you not also receive a young cavalier, called Louis Garnegey?" said
Cromwell.

"I remember no such name, were I to hang for it," said the knight.
"Kerneguy, or some such word," said the General; "we will not quarrel
for a sound."

"A Scotch lad, called Louis Kerneguy, was a guest of mine," said Sir
Henry, "and left me this morning for Dorsetshire."

"So late!" exclaimed Cromwell, stamping with his foot--"How fate
contrives to baffle us, even when she seems most favourable!--What
direction did he take, old man?" continued Cromwell--"what horse did he
ride--who went with him?"

"My son went with him," replied the knight; "he brought him here as the
son of a Scottish lord.--I pray you, sir, to be finished with these
questions; for although I owe thee, as Will Shakspeare says,

Respect for thy great place, and let the devil
Be sometimes honoured for his burning throne,--

yet I feel my patience wearing thin."

Cromwell here whispered to the corporal, who in turn uttered orders to
two soldiers, who left the room. "Place the knight aside; we will now
examine the servant damsel," said the General.--"Dost them know," said
he to Phoebe, "of the presence of one Louis Kerneguy, calling himself a
Scotch page, who came here a few days since?"

"Surely, sir," she replied, "I cannot easily forget him; and I warrant
no well-looking wench that comes into his way will be like to forget him
either."

"Aha," said Cromwell, "sayst thou so? truly I believe the woman will
prove the truer witness.--When did he leave this house?"

"Nay, I know nothing of his movements, not I," said Phoebe; "I am only
glad to keep out of his way. But if he have actually gone hence, I am
sure he was here some two hours since, for he crossed me in the lower
passage, between the hall and the kitchen."

"How did you know it was he?" demanded Cromwell.

"By a rude enough token," said Phoebe.--"La, sir, you do ask such
questions!" she added, hanging down her head.

Humgudgeon here interfered, taking upon himself the freedom of a
co-adjutor. "Verily," he said, "if what the damsel is called to speak
upon hath aught unseemly, I crave your Excellency's permission to
withdraw, not desiring that my nightly meditations may be disturbed with
tales of such a nature."

"Nay, your honour," said Phoebe, "I scorn the old man's words, in the
way of seemliness or unseemliness either. Master Louis did but snatch a
kiss, that is the truth of it, if it must be told."

Here Humgudgeon groaned deeply, while his Excellency avoided laughing
with some difficulty. "Thou hast given excellent tokens, Phoebe," he
said; "and if they be true, as I think they seem to be, thou shalt not
lack thy reward.--And here comes our spy from the stables."

"There are not the least signs," said the trooper, "that horses have
been in the stables for a month--there is no litter in the stalls, no
hay in the racks, the corn-bins are empty, and the mangers are full of
cobwebs."

"Ay, ay," said the old knight, "I have seen when I kept twenty good
horses in these stalls, with many a groom and stable-boy to attend
them."

"In the meanwhile," said Cromwell, "their present state tells little for
the truth of your own story, that there were horses to-day, on which
this Kerneguy and your son fled from justice."

"I did not say that the horses were kept there," said the knight. "I
have horses and stables elsewhere."

"Fie, fie, for shame, for shame!" said the General; "can a white-bearded
man, I ask it once more, be a false witness?"

"Faith, sir," said Sir Henry Lee, "it is a thriving trade, and I wonder
not that you who live on it are so severe in prosecuting interlopers.
But it is the times, and those who rule the times, that make grey-beards
deceivers."

"Thou art facetious friend, as well as daring in thy malignity," said
Cromwell; "but credit me, I will cry quittance with you ere I am done.
Whereunto lead these doors?"

"To bedrooms," answered the knight.

"Bedrooms! only to bedrooms?" said the Republican General, in a voice
which indicated such was the internal occupation of his thoughts, that
he had not fully understood the answer.

"Lord, sir," said the knight, "why should you make it so strange? I say
these doors lead to bedrooms--to places where honest men sleep, and
rogues lie awake."

"You are running up a farther account, Sir Henry," said the General;
"but we will balance it once and for all."

During the whole of the scene, Cromwell, whatever might be the internal
uncertainty of his mind, maintained the most strict temperance in
language and manner, just as if he had no farther interest in what was
passing, than as a military man employed in discharging the duty
enjoined him by his superiors. But the restraint upon his passion
was but

"The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below."

[Footnote:
But mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth?
The torrent's smoothness ere it dash, below.
CAMPBELL'S _Gertrude of Wyoming_.]

The course of his resolution was hurried on even more forcibly, because
no violence of expression attended or announced its current. He threw
himself into a chair, with a countenance that indicated no indecision of
mind, but a determination which awaited only the signal for action.
Meanwhile the knight, as if resolved in nothing to forego the privileges
of his rank and place, sat himself down in turn, and putting on his hat,
which lay on a table, regarded the General with a calm look of fearless
indifference. The soldiers stood around, some holding the torches, which
illuminated the apartment with a lurid and sombre glare of light, the
others resting upon their weapons. Phoebe, with her hands folded, her
eyes turned upwards till the pupils were scarce visible, and every shade
of colour banished from her ruddy cheek, stood like one in immediate
apprehension of the sentence of death being pronounced, and instant
execution commanded.

Heavy steps were at last heard, and Pearson and some of the soldiers
returned. This seemed to be what Cromwell waited for. He started up, and
asked hastily, "Any news, Pearson? any prisoners--any malignants slain
in thy defence?"

"None, so please your Excellency," said the officer.

"And are thy sentinels all carefully placed, as Tomkins' scroll gave
direction, and with fitting orders?"

"With the most deliberate care," said Pearson.

"Art thou very sure," said Cromwell, pulling him a little to one side,
"that this is all well and duly cared for? Bethink thee, that when we
engage ourselves in the private communications, all will be lost should
the party we look for have the means of dodging us by an escape into the
more open rooms, and from thence perhaps into the forest."

"My Lord-General," answered Pearson, "if placing the guards on the
places pointed out in this scroll be sufficient, with the strictest
orders to stop, and, if necessary, to stab or shoot, whoever crosses
their post, such orders are given to men who will not fail to execute
them. If more is necessary, your Excellency has only to speak."

"No--no--no, Pearson," said the General, "thou hast done well.--This
night over, and let it end but as we hope, thy reward shall not be
wanting.--And now to business.--Sir Henry Lee, undo me the secret spring
of yonder picture of your ancestor. Nay, spare yourself the trouble and
guilt of falsehood or equivocation, and, I say, undo me that spring
presently."

"When I acknowledge you for my master, and wear your livery, I may obey
your commands," answered the knight; "even then I would need first to
understand them."

"Wench," said Cromwell, addressing Phoebe, "go thou undo the spring--you
could do it fast enough when you aided at the gambols of the demons of
Woodstock, and terrified even Mark Everard, who, I judged, had more
sense."

"Oh Lord, sir, what shall I do?" said Phoebe, looking to the knight;
"they know all about it. What shall I do?"

"For thy life, hold out to the last, wench! Every minute is worth a
million."

"Ha! heard you that, Pearson?" said Cromwell to the officer; then,
stamping with his foot, he added, "Undo the spring, or I will else use
levers and wrenching-irons--Or, ha! another petard were well bestowed--
Call the engineer."

"O Lord, sir," cried Phoebe, "I shall never live another peter--I will
open the spring."

"Do as thou wilt," said Sir Henry; "it shall profit them but little."

Whether from real agitation, or from a desire to gain time, Phoebe was
some minutes ere she could get the spring to open; it was indeed secured
with art, and the machinery on which it acted was concealed in the frame
of the portrait. The whole, when fastened, appeared quite motionless,
and betrayed, as when examined by Colonel Everard, no external mark of
its being possible to remove it. It was now withdrawn, however, and
showed a narrow recess, with steps which ascended on one side into the
thickness of the wall. Cromwell was now like a greyhound slipped from
the leash with the prey in full view.--"Up," he cried, "Pearson, thou
art swifter than I--Up thou next, corporal." With more agility than
could have been expected from his person or years, which were past the
meridian of life, and exclaiming, "Before, those with the torches!" he
followed the party, like an eager huntsman in the rear of his hounds, to
encourage at once and direct them, as they penetrated into the labyrinth
described by Dr. Rochecliffe in the "Wonders of Woodstock."

* * * * *

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH.


The King, therefore, for his defence
Against the furious Queen,
At Woodstock builded such a bower,
As never yet was seen.
Most curiously that bower was built,
Of stone and timber strong;
An hundred and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong;
And they so cunningly contrived,
With turnings round about,
That none but with a clew of thread
Could enter in or out.
BALLAD OF FAIR ROSAMOND.

The tradition of the country, as well as some historical evidence,
confirmed the opinion that there existed, within the old Royal Lodge at
Woodstock, a labyrinth, or connected series of subterranean passages,
built chiefly by Henry II., for the security of his mistress, Rosamond
Clifford, from the jealousy of his Queen, the celebrated Eleanor. Dr.
Rochecliffe, indeed, in one of those fits of contradiction with which
antiquaries are sometimes seized, was bold enough to dispute the alleged
purpose of the perplexed maze of rooms and passages, with which the
walls of the ancient palace were perforated; but the fact was
undeniable, that in raising the fabric some Norman architect had exerted
the utmost of the complicated art, which they have often shown
elsewhere, in creating secret passages, and chambers of retreat and
concealment. There were stairs, which were ascended merely, as it
seemed, for the purpose of descending again--passages, which, after
turning and winding for a considerable way, returned to the place where
they set out--there were trapdoors and hatchways, panels and
portcullises. Although Oliver was assisted by a sort of ground-plan,
made out and transmitted by Joseph Tomkins, whose former employment in
Dr. Rochecliffe's service had made him fully acquainted with the place,
it was found imperfect; and, moreover, the most serious obstacles to
their progress occurred in the shape of strong doors, party-walls, and
iron-grates--so that the party blundered on in the dark, uncertain
whether they were not going farther from, rather than approaching, the
extremity of the labyrinth. They were obliged to send for mechanics,
with sledge-hammers and other instruments, to force one or two of those
doors, which resisted all other means of undoing them. Labouring along
in these dusky passages, where, from time to time, they were like to be
choked by the dust which their acts of violence excited, the soldiers
were obliged to be relieved oftener than once, and the bulky Corporal
Grace-be-here himself puffed and blew like a grampus that has got into
shoal water. Cromwell alone continued, with unabated zeal, to push on
his researches--to encourage the soldiers, by the exhortations which
they best understood, against fainting for lack of faith--and to secure,
by sentinels at proper places, possession of the ground which they had
already explored. His acute and observing eye detected, with a sneering
smile, the cordage and machinery by which the bed of poor Desborough had
been inverted, and several remains of the various disguises, as well as
private modes of access, by which Desborough, Bletson, and Harrison, had
been previously imposed upon. He pointed them out to Pearson, with no
farther comment than was implied in the exclamation, "The simple fools!"

But his assistants began to lose heart and be discouraged, and required
all his spirit to raise theirs. He then called their attention to voices
which they seemed to hear before them, and urged these as evidence that
they were moving on the track of some enemy of the Commonwealth, who,
for the execution of his malignant plots, had retreated into these
extraordinary fastnesses.

The spirits of the men became at last downcast, notwithstanding all this
encouragement. They spoke to each other in whispers, of the devils of
Woodstock, who might be all the while decoying them forward to a room
said to exist in the Palace, where the floor, revolving on an axis,
precipitated those who entered into a bottomless abyss. Humgudgeon
hinted, that he had consulted the Scripture that morning by way of lot,
and his fortune had been to alight on the passage, "Eutychus fell down
from the third loft." The energy and authority of Cromwell, however, and
the refreshment of some food and strong waters, reconciled them to
pursuing their task.

Nevertheless, with all their unwearied exertions, morning dawned on the
search before they had reached Dr. Rochecliffe's sitting apartment, into
which, after all, they obtained entrance by a mode much more difficult
than that which the Doctor himself employed. But here their ingenuity
was long at fault. From the miscellaneous articles that were strewed
around, and the preparations made for food and lodging, it seemed they
had gained the very citadel of the labyrinth; but though various
passages opened from it, they all terminated in places with which they
were already acquainted, or communicated with the other parts of the
house, where their own sentinels assured them none had passed. Cromwell
remained long in deep uncertainty. Meantime he directed Pearson to take
charge of the ciphers, and more important papers which lay on the table.
"Though there is little there," he said, "that I have not already known,
by means of Trusty Tomkins--Honest Joseph--for an artful and
thorough-paced agent, the like of thee is not left in England."

After a considerable pause, during which he sounded with the pommel of
his sword almost every stone in the building, and every plank on the
floor, the General gave orders to bring the old knight and Dr.
Rochecliffe to the spot, trusting that he might work out of them some
explanation of the secrets of this apartment.

"So please your Excellency, to let me deal with him," said Pearson, who
was a true soldier of fortune, and had been a buccaneer in the West
Indies, "I think that, by a whipcord twitched tight round their
forehead, and twisted about with a pistol-but, I could make either the
truth start from their lips, or the eyes from their head."

"Out upon thee, Pearson!" said Cromwell, with abhorrence; "we have no
warrant for such cruelty, neither as Englishmen nor Christians. We may
slay malignants as we crush noxious animals, but to torture them is a
deadly sin; for it is written, 'He made them to be pitied of those who
carried them captive.' Nay, I recall the order even for their
examination, trusting that wisdom will be granted us without it, to
discover their most secret devices."

There was a pause accordingly, during which an idea seized upon
Cromwell's imagination--"Bring me hither," he said, "yonder stool;" and
placing it beneath one of the windows, of which there were two so high
in the wall as not to be accessible from the floor, he clambered up into
the entrance of the window, which was six or seven feet deep,
corresponding with the thickness of the wall. "Come up hither, Pearson,"
said the General; "but ere thou comest, double the guard at the foot of
the turret called Love's Ladder, and bid them bring up the other
petard--So now, come thou hither."

The inferior officer, however brave in the field, was one of those whom
a great height strikes with giddiness and sickness. He shrunk back from
the view of the precipice, on the verge of which Cromwell was standing
with complete indifference, till the General, catching the hand of his
follower, pulled him forward as far as he would advance. "I think," said
the General, "I have found the clew, but by this light it is no easy
one! See you, we stand in the portal near the top of Rosamond's Tower;
and yon turret, which rises opposite to our feet, is that which is
called Love's Ladder, from which the drawbridge reached that admitted
the profligate Norman tyrant to the bower of his mistress."

"True, my lord, but the drawbridge is gone," said Pearson.

"Ay, Pearson," replied the General; "but an active man might spring from
the spot we stand upon to the battlements of yonder turret."

"I do not think so, my lord," said Pearson.

"What?" said Cromwell; "not if the avenger of blood were behind you,
with his slaughter-weapon in his hand?"

"The fear of instant death might do much," answered Pearson; "but when I
look at that sheer depth on either side, and at the empty chasm between
us and yonder turret, which is, I warrant you, twelve feet distant, I
confess the truth, nothing short of the most imminent danger should
induce me to try. Pah--the thought makes my head grow giddy!--I tremble
to see your Highness stand there, balancing yourself as if you meditated
a spring into the empty air. I repeat, I would scarce stand so near the
verge as does your Highness, for the rescue of my life."

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