Boscobel; or, the royal oak: A tale of the year 1651. William Harrison Ainsworth
at once what had occurred, Charles merely said, "Bring in Colonel Roscarrock."
And as the aide-de-camp departed, he arose and paced the cabinet with anxious steps, trying to summon his firmness for the painful interview.
Presently Careless returned supporting the colonel, whose left arm was in a sling.
Roscarrock was a tall, soldier-like, handsome man, but loss of blood and excessive fatigue gave a haggard expression to his features. The dusty state of his apparel and boots showed that he had ridden far.
"Alas, sire, I bring you bad news!" he exclaimed, in dolorous accents.
"Be seated, colonel, and I will hear you," said Charles, aiding him to a chair. "We have sustained a defeat, I perceive, but ere you enter into details, relieve my anxiety respecting the Earl of Derby."
"His lordship is sore hurt," replied Roscarrock, "but he is in safety, and will be with your majesty ere many days."
"Thank Heaven for that!" exclaimed Charles, earnestly.
"You have lost many loyal subjects and brave soldiers, sire," pursued Roscarrock. "Lord Widdrington is mortally wounded, if not dead. Sir William Throckmorton cannot survive. Sir Thomas Tildesley, Colonel Boynton, Colonel Trollope, and Colonel Galliard are slain."
"Alas! brave Widdrington! Alas! brave Tildesley! have I lost you?" ejaculated Charles, mournfully. "Where did this dire disaster occur?"
"At Wigan, in Lancashire, my liege," returned Roscarrock. "At first, everything promised success. As your majesty's lieutenant, the Earl of Derby had issued his warrant commanding all your loyal subjects to meet him in arms at Preston, and he had collected six hundred horse and about nine hundred foot. With this force he marched to Wigan, with the design of proceeding to Manchester, where he not only hoped to surprise Cromwell's regiment of infantry but expected to obtain five hundred recruits. I need not tell your majesty that I was with his lordship. In a lane near the town we encountered Colonel Lilburn with a regiment of horse. Our men shouted loudly as we dashed upon the enemy, and fought so well that they drove Lilburn to the end of the lane. But a reserve of horse coming up changed the fortune of the day. What could our raw recruits do against Lilburn's veterans? Owing to the earl's reckless daring, he was wounded early in the conflict, which lasted upwards of an hour. How can I relate the disastrous issue? Suffice it, the rout was total. Our men were panic-stricken, and could not be rallied. Hundreds were slain in flight. Pursued by a party of horse, the earl dashed into Wigan, and turned into a narrow street. Observing an open door, he flung himself from his steed and entered the house. A woman recognised him, and barred the door, enabling him to escape through a garden at the back before the Roundheads could search the house. By a miracle almost the noble fugitive got out of the town, which was filled with Parliamentary soldiers, and shaped his course towards the south. I was proceeding slowly in the same direction, when Providence—for I like not to call it chance—brought us together near Newport. At the house of a Royalist gentleman named Watson, we met another true man, Mr. Snead, who volunteered to conduct us to a lonely house called Boscobel, standing on the borders of two counties—Shropshire and Staffordshire—where we could remain safely hidden till our wounds were healed. We gladly accepted the offer. I rested one night at Boscobel, when feeling able to proceed to Worcester, I came on. Lord Derby was too weak to accompany me, but bade me say that your majesty may count on seeing him in a few days."
"I thought to see him with two thousand men at his back," exclaimed Charles, in a melancholy and somewhat despondent tone. "But the hope ought never to have been indulged. Treat it as we may, Roscarrock, this defeat at Wigan is a heavy blow to our cause. 'Twill encourage the enemy, and dishearten our own troops. Lilburn will join Cromwell."
"He has already joined him, sire, with his regiment of horse," remarked Roscarrock. "I should have been here before, had I not experienced much difficulty in getting nigh Worcester, owing to the enemy's numerous outposts. Would I had a sword like Widdrington's, and an arm like his to wield it!" he continued, with a grim smile. "Widdrington cut down half a dozen dragoons ere he was overpowered. In losing him your majesty has lost the tallest of your subjects, and the strongest."
"But not the bravest, while hardy Ned Roscarrock is left me," said Charles. "But you need refreshment and rest, colonel, and you must have both, or you will never be able to fight for me, and I may call upon you to attack Lilburn again before long."
"Your majesty will find me ready, call on me when you will," returned Roscarrock.
With Careless's assistance he then arose and withdrew, leaving the king alone with his secretary.
CHAPTER XII.
HOW URSO GIVES WAS WEDDED TO MARY RUSHOUT.
Amid his manifold distractions, Careless had not forgotten pretty Mary Rushout. Twice had he seen her at her grandmother's dwelling in Angel-lane, but on the second occasion she prayed him with tears in her eyes never to come to the house again.
"We must part," she said; "and it would have been better if we had never met. Urso, you know, is exceedingly jealous, and keeps the strictest watch over me. He saw you enter the house last night, and waited outside till you departed."
"He must have waited long," remarked Careless, smiling.
"Ah! it's no laughing matter, I can assure you," cried Mary. "Urso is a terrible man. I won't tell you how bitterly he reviled you, but he said you had better look to yourself if you came to Angel-lane again. I shouldn't wonder if he is on the watch now. Ay, there he is of a surety," she added, stepping towards the little lattice window, and peeping out into the lane.
"Heed him not," cried Careless, drawing her back. "I was going—but, to punish him, I'll stay an hour longer."
"No, no—you mustn't—indeed you mustn't!" she exclaimed. "It will drive him frantic, and when he is in one of his rages, he is capable of killing me. You must go immediately."
"Impossible, sweetheart. I have much to say to you. Don't trouble yourself about this jealous Roundhead. Leave me to deal with him. I'll crop his ears still more closely to his head. Why don't you give him up?"
"Unluckily, I've plighted my troth to him, or I would."
"Never mind that, sweetheart. I'll liberate you from your pledge."
"You graceless Cavaliers will swear anything, and care not for breaking your vows—that's what Urso says."
"Truce to Urso. You will believe me, when I swear that I love you."
"No; because I find you do not regard an oath."
"Bah! promise to love me."
"No; because it would be sinful to make such a promise. Urso himself would say so."
"Urso again!—confound him! I must find means to free you from this tie—even if I sever it with my sword."
"That won't make me love you—rather hate you. But you must really go. Pray do not quarrel with Urso."
"If he stops me, I shall assuredly chastise him. Adieu, sweetheart! Expect me at the same hour to-morrow?"
"No, no—you must not come—indeed, you must not."
But she seemed so little in earnest, that Careless construed her prohibition in the opposite sense, and believed she wished him to come.
As he went forth, Angel-lane—a narrow street running nearly parallel with the walls on the north of the city, in the direction of All Hallows—appeared quite deserted, and he thought that Urso Gives was gone. But he had scarcely reached the church, when a tall figure stepped from behind a buttress and barred his path.
"Out of my way, fellow!" he cried, haughtily, feeling sure it was Urso.
"Not till I have spoken with you," rejoined the other, maintaining his ground.