Legends of Lancashire 4

Legends of Lancashire 4

“Friend,” replied the knight, “that speech savours too much of a

roundhead, who must always be quoting scripture. I once knew one of

them, whom Cromwell advised to read carefully the account of Jael

and Sisera; and after he had done so, he would inquire at every

old woman whom he met, whether she had got such articles as a long

nail, a heavy hammer, and a strong arm; and told her to operate

upon the head of a cavalier, assuring her ‘that the Lord had

delivered all such into her hand,’ and that she would henceforth

be a mother in Israel. No, no, colonel,--I do not say let soldiers

leave piety to monks, but let them, I say, leave sermons, homilies,

and long faces.”

 

“Well spoken,” said Sir Richard Houghton, “but our friend hates the

roundheads.”

 

“I do,” replied the Colonel, “God save King Charles.”

 

At this moment a blast was heard, and Sir Richard arose, when

Seaton again interrupted them. “Keep your seat, worthy knight, and

entertain your guests. I will go and parley with the new comer; it

is the blast of a royalist.” He strode away saying in his heart,

“God save Cromwell.”

 

In a short time he returned with the stranger, who was of an

athletic frame, altogether destitute of grace, though not of

dignity; for he strode into the hall with a commanding air. His eye

moved restlessly over the forms of the warriors, when the Earl of

Derby started up, with his hand on his sword.

 

Colonel Seaton stepped between them, “You behold a friend, noble

Earl! the governor of a loyal castle, who has come to deliberate

with Sir Richard Houghton, in reference to their garrison: not

knowing whether they ought to join the King at Worcester, or keep

to their castle.”

 

The Earl was satisfied, and only remarked that “he had been

deceived by a resemblance.”

 

The stranger was invited cordially to partake of the cheer; during

which he spoke but little, and yet seemed interested in the

conversation. At length Sir Thomas Tyldesley proposed that a song

should be sung, adding “that amongst royalists there were to be

found the only true poets.”

 

“Nay, Sir Thomas,” replied the Earl of Derby, “the republicans can

boast of one whose name shall be the boast of our country to latest

ages, whose lays are wild and majestic. When in London, I was

desirous of seeing the man who wrote so bitterly against the king;

expecting to see a fiend in human disguise. His house was mean: I

thought that he surely had not taken bribes, otherwise he might

have lived in a magnificent mansion. As I entered, two females were

writing, and the sound of an organ came from the further end of the

room. I turned there, and beheld a beautiful man, seated behind

the faded hangings, with a countenance so serene and angelic, and

his eyes looking up to heaven, as if his soul was ascending on the

breath of the music. He was dictating to the ladies, who called him

father. He moved not his eyes: his face was pale, but every muscle

seemed to vibrate with thought and feeling. His hair was parted in

front, over a beautifully formed brow, and fell in brown ringlets

over his shoulders. He could not be young--there was so much of

thought:--he could not be old--there was so much of happiness.

‘Dorothy,’ he said, ‘I have given you the last sentence:--subscribe

Joannis Miltonus.’”

 

“Milton!” exclaimed the stranger with enthusiasm. “John Milton!”

 

“His daughter,” the Earl continued, “beheld me; they told their

father that an armed stranger was present. His sword was on the

table--he grasped it--but instantly laid it down. ‘He is welcome,

though I cannot see him. All is dark--dark--not even shadows. But

your errand, sir stranger?’--and his sightless orbs seemed to turn

upon me, with the sweetest, and yet most dignified __EXPRESSION__. I

dared not announce with what views I had come, but I went close

to his side, and took the hand (it scarcely touched as if it were

human) which was stained with my master’s blood, and I kissed it

in profoundest admiration. I remained for hours, happy, useful

hours. He arose, as I prepared to depart; I yet see his form; I yet

hear his step. He led me to the door, and blessed me. I have often

thought of the interview, and as I passed the Darwen a few hours

ago, I repeated his lines--though they were commemorative of the

king’s defeat,--

 

‘And Darwen’s streams with blood of Scots embrued.’”

 

Here the stranger was much moved, and frequently repeated to

himself, “my Milton! my Milton!”

 

“Yes,” added Sir Thomas Tyldesley, “it was on such a night as this,

three years ago, that Cromwell defeated the Duke of Hamilton.”

 

“It was,” replied the stranger, averting his gaze.

 

The conversation now began to turn upon their warlike plans,

and Henry Tyldesley, conceiving that he might be more agreeably

occupied, led Anne to a seat in the recess, where our fair readers,

we doubt not, have been frequently wishing them to be, together and

alone.

 

Music was heard from the battlements, through the casement; the

moon shed her softening light upon the young hero’s armour, and

he almost fancied that the rays were the fingers of his beautiful

companion. They spoke not, though their eyes had met, and though

the emotions with which they were lighted up, could not be

mistaken. They loved fondly, and to them both it was that holy and

rapturous thing--first love--which is for ever remembered, even

in old age, as something more beautiful and real than a dream of

earth. In war, love is seen only as in a glimpse, yet then it is

most interesting. Does the dove ever appear so much the spirit of

peace and hope, as when her silver wings are seen, like eternal

types of light, through the darkness of the storm, ascending to

heaven? How beautiful then is every flutter! Darkness is over all,

except these wings, and they appear purer and whiter than ever!

Thus is it with love, when it clings, fonder and fonder, in the

midst of danger; and when slender arms twine themselves around the

martial form, as if they could give a charm against wounds and

death, which reach through corslet and shield.

 

Young Tyldesley had taken her hand, and she had not withdrawn it,

when a shadow was reflected from the casement, at which they sat

within hearing of the Darwen. Anne started, and on turning round

beheld her maid, who motioned her to leave the hall. There was

an unusual earnestness in her manner as she whispered “for God’s

sake--for your own--not a moment’s delay, my lady!”

 

Her mistress silently obeyed her.

 

They were now both upon the battlement, at the eastern extremity.

 

“We are out of hearing,” said the maid, looking cautiously

around; and gazing upon Anne, whispered with terror, “you are

betrayed!--betrayed--and in the power of false hearts, but daring

hands!”

 

“Never,” replied her mistress with energy, “who dares asperse his

character and motives?--the stranger is true--”

 

“My young lady thinks of love,” returned her maid,--“but I refer

not to a lover. Nay, blush not; I meant not, that falsehood, either

to his king, or his lady-love, is in the heart of that young and

handsome cavalier; no, he and his companions I could swear over my

dead husband’s bible, are loyal and noble. But the new comer, whom

Colonel Seaton admitted, is a traitor!--nay, start not, my fair

mistress,--and Houghton Tower is now in the hands of Charles the

First’s murderers!”

 

There was a fearful reality, thrilling in the voice of the

attendant; so different from the gossiping tone, for which she was

somewhat noted.

 

“Gracious heaven!” exclaimed her mistress, “and are we betrayed? I

doubt the fidelity of Seaton. He had the countenance of an honest

man until this day; but I now fear me, that his heart is deceitful

and villainous. The stranger, too, seemed sullen; still, there was

an __EXPRESSION__ of cunning. Yet why should we tremble? Let their

heads grace the walls of Houghton Tower!--my father shall see it

done.”

 

“Hush, hush, my lady,” replied her maid, “other heads than those

of traitors may, ere long, grace the turrets. They are supported

by the garrison. I learned as much from one of the sentinels, and

a high admiration he expressed for the stranger, whom my husband,

heaven rest his soul! would have addressed as an ungainly butcher,

such is the villain’s appearance.”

 

Here she was interrupted:--she beheld two forms in the distance,

approaching, and she whispered to her mistress, to screen

themselves from view, behind the enormous engine posted on the

battlements. Scarcely had they done so, before they heard steps

near them, and instantly a dead pause was made. A stern voice now

lowly broke upon the silence, and Anne recognized it to be that

of the stranger, only it seemed more authoritative, even in its

whispers. “Is all safe? Is every thing in readiness?”

 

“Yes,” was the short reply of his companion, Colonel Seaton; but it

was given in an obsequious and reverential tone.

 

“But Derby, and his companions--”

 

“Your excellency,” returned Seaton, “they shall be taken care of.

Though the night is not dark, still, dangers beset their way back

to the camp; and since their health is valuable, we must not expose

them beyond the limits of Houghton Tower. We are good nurses, and

are generally able to lull all whom we love, into a long and sound

sleep. Fear not--they are safe;”--and he laughed in scorn.

 

After a moment’s pause, the stranger replied, “Seaton, you speak

of sleep; let us then think of a bed for them. I have heard of a

deep draw-well in the court; they would not be disturbed there.

’Twill but keep them from a sea of blood, into which, heaven

assisting me, the royalists must soon be plunged, and drowned, like

Pharoah’s host, in the red sea,--aye, red indeed! But, Seaton, see

that these three men do not quit the tower; their troopers shall be

an easy prey--they are sheep without a shepherd.”

 

“Fear not,” the Colonel again said; “they are safe. They have

been men of blood, and it is but befitting them, that they should

undergo a cleansing. The ruffian Tyldesley pointed out to me some

stains of blood upon his armour--aye, the blood of our companions:

the well shall wash them out. Your excellency shall triumph over

all your enemies.”

 

“Again,” interrupted his companion, “I charge it upon you. I am not

wont to come unattended, but, at present, I have run every hazard,

encountered every danger, to learn how our cause prospers. The

enemy is in our power. Seaton shall defeat Derby at Houghton Tower,

and his general shall defeat Charles at Worcester.”

 

The stranger here spoke in a soothing and flattering tone. He added

a few more words, but they were inaudible. The speakers then trod

to and fro, upon the battlements, conversing with each other in

whispers. Sometimes the stamp of the stranger was heard enforcing his words.