XXXII
Of the Evil News from Dale’s Field
Now at midnight on the 27th of May, while I was sleeping in my quarters, there came to me Ben Tuckett, who had been on guard at the Barbican, and woke me somewhat hurriedly, saying that I must rise at once and go with him. Whereupon I rose from my bed, which was none of the softest, and began to rub the sleep out of my eyes, wondering what had happened.
“What is it, Ben?” said I, with a prodigious yawn between every word. “Hath the enemy departed, or are they going to assault us?”
“ ’Tis better news than that,” he answered, “for there is prospect, lad, of fresh meat for many a day to come.”
“Always thy stomach, Ben!”
“And why not?” he asked. “But hasten, Will, for here is Captain Wheatley, whom the Governor despatched to Sandal t’other day, just returned with good news. He hath brought fifty horsemen with him, and they have driven a herd of cattle before them, and are now guarding them outside the town while he contrives some means whereby to bring them inside the Castle. So hasten, lad, and let us help, for the cattle number over a hundred, and will stand us in fresh meat this many a day.”
This was indeed good news, and I lost no time in arming myself and hastening into the great courtyard where Captain Wheatley and the Governor were making plans for bringing the cattle in.
“How say you?” said the Governor, as I drew near to them. “The cattle number one hundred and thirty, and are in the Chequer Field. We must make a bold bid for their possession. Let us see now how we can manage this matter. Come, Will Dale, you are a farmer, and should have some good counsel for us. What do you say?”
Thus appealed to, I began to consider the matter, and having made myself familiar with it, I could do no better than suggest that Captain Wheatley should return to the cattle and drive them gently from the Chequer Field to the top of Baghill, and that, meanwhile, parties from the Castle should go out in various directions and prevent the enemy from interfering with our plans. This advice seemed good to the Governor, and Captain Wheatley presently went out of the Castle again and rode away to rejoin his booty, while the rest of us made preparations for carrying our project to a happy end. We were at that time entirely bereft of fresh meat, and there was not a man amongst us that did not resolve to do all in his power to bring this valuable herd into the Castle.
Everything being in readiness, Captain Flood went out with fifty musketeers, and advanced towards Baghill, having orders not to enter the enemy’s works, but to remain under the hill and direct a steady fire against the outposts. They were followed by Colonel Gilbreth and forty musketeers, who took their way to Primrose Close, under Baghill, where they dislodged the enemy from their trenches, and forced them to retreat. After them went Captain Smith, with thirty musketeers, who proceeded to Broad Lane End, and held the Roundheads in check at that point. A fourth party, under Captain Munroe, went out through the east gate, and took up a position against the enemy’s works below the church, so that none of them might come from the forts at Monkhill or New Hall.
When all this was done and the enemy held in check all along the line, Captain Walker and a small body of men, amongst whom were Ben Tuckett and myself, went out through the closes beyond the church, and met the cattle, which were on the top of Baghill, guarded by Captain Wheatley and the fifty horsemen who had come with him from Sandal Castle. It was a dark night, and we could barely make out the presence of these unknown friends, but we had scarcely advanced close to them when I heard a voice which made the blood leap in my veins.
“I and my companion, master sergeant, are going forward with these beasts here, for we have letters for Colonel Lowther, and shall maybe stay with him when they are delivered. So back to Sandal with you we shall not.”
“Jack! Jack!” I cried, for I knew his voice without doubt, “I am here, Jack, and so is Ben. What brings you here, and where is Philip Lisle?”
“Here, lad,” answered Philip; and in another instant Ben and I were shaking hands with both of them, right glad to meet them again, though we could not see their faces in the darkness.
“We have ridden across country from Lancashire,” said Philip, “with letters for Colonel Lowther, and fell in with this party from Sandal yesterday evening. But we will tell you more, lads, when we have helped you in with these cattle.”
“Yea,” said Ben, “let us get the cattle in first of all. I am glad indeed to see you, gentlemen, or to know you are there, for I cannot see you at all—but the prospect of roast meat! Alas! what shall we do if these cattle escape us?”
But the cattle did not escape us, for we presently drove them down the hill towards the Castle gates, guiding them between the lines formed by our men, who were now keeping the enemy back by means of a smart fusillade. And though by overhastiness we lost some thirty of them, which broke through and fell into the hands of the Roundheads, we succeeded in driving about a hundred into the Castle, whereupon our drums beat a retreat, and our men came in without having suffered any loss. Then indeed our spirits were raised to a high pitch, for we had now enough provision to last us a good while longer. Certain of our men, in order to testify to the general joy of the garrison, lighted bonfires on the towers, which made a brave show, while the gunners opened a brisk fire on the enemy, and kept it up for some considerable time.
During the following day Ben and I had many things to talk over with Philip Lisle and Jack Drumbleforth, and spent as much time with them as we could spare from our duties. Both were much diverted at the thought of Ben turning soldier, and Jack rallied him no little on his martial air and gallant deeds.
“Why,” said Ben, “indeed I see not why I should not be as great a warrior as any amongst you. ’Tis said that hunger will make a man do aught, and if that be true, I have reason enough to commit heroic acts. Alas! do you know, Master Lisle, I have lost nigh upon a stone of my weight since I came into this Castle! Yea, and can take my belt up three holes, which shows that I am naught like so bulky as I was.”
“That is all the better for thee,” said Jack.
“I am not so sure about it,” said Ben. “A fat man is always comfortable, save in summer, and then ’tis his own fault if he is not, for there is a cool corner in every alehouse, and a shady side in every street. Indeed, I cannot think of aught more delightful than being a well-fed, plump sort of man, with no care and a good appetite.”
“Talking of appetites, Ben,” said I, “the butcher hath killed some of the oxen this morning, and I dare say you will get a ration of beef ere the day is out.”
“And well it will agree with me,” he answered. “But now, lads, let me tell you something. ’Tis my birthday today, and I am minded to entertain ye all. What say you if we put our rations together and have a decent roast? The butcher, I dare say, would cut it for us all in one piece. And hark ye, gentlemen, I have a small cask of burgundy hidden away close by, so that you can wash your meat down with something better than small ale.”
“Agreed, Ben!” we all cried, and wished him long life and happiness, so that he went away mighty pleased, to make arrangements for his little feast and persuade the butcher to cut him a piece out of the sirloin. He was very busy all that day until suppertime, when he fetched us into a little apartment in one of the towers, where he had set out the birthday feast for our entertainment.
“ ’Tis not a very fine banquet, gentlemen,” said honest Ben, “for, as you see, there is naught but the beef and this loaf of wheaten bread and yonder bit of cheese, which came from my own shop when we fled to the Castle. However, here is the little cask of wine, which hath been hidden in a nice cool place, I assure you. So now, lads, sit down and fall to.”
This we did with a right good will, for food was not over-plentiful with us in the Castle at that time, and much eating of salt meats had whetted our appetites for something newly killed. As for Philip and Jack, they had not experienced over-good times during their recent adventures, and were hardly behind us in prowess with knife and fork. Wherefore in half an hour the table was cleared of food and we had naught to contemplate but the diligently scraped bone of the beef.
“Ah!” said Ben, “what a beautiful thing is a piece of fresh meat! And what a spirit it doth put into a man! I feel as if I could go forth and fight every Roundhead that ever was born, including Cromwell himself. However, I am not on duty tonight, and am well content to sit here, gentlemen, with my pipe of tobacco and my pot of wine—I could not lay hand on any glass, Master Lisle—and hearken to the lads outside firing at the crop-eared knaves that besiege us. But now, Master Lisle, what do you think of these matters? Which will prevail, Roundhead or Cavalier?”
“Nay, Ben,” said Philip, “ ’tis more than I can say. The prospect is not over-promising for us at present, I think, for the Parliamentarians are more resolved than ever. And yet I cannot think that this people of England will throw down the monarchy altogether. Thrown down for a season it may be; but if Charles the First is deposed, Charles the Second will reign in his stead.”
“Alas!” said Ben, “we are in a pretty coil. But come, lads, ’tis my birthday, so let us be merry. We shall have time enow for sorrow tomorrow. Jack, lad, give us a song such as you used to sing in the old days when neither Roundhead nor Cavalier vexed our souls.”
“Yes, give us a song, Jack,” said I. “It seems an age since I heard your voice.”
“I have but a poor voice,” said Jack, “for it hath had little practice of late and is grown rusty. However, you shall have a little song that I made one night recently as I sat by the campfire.”
He filled his mug with wine from the cask, and having drank, gave us the following verses:
“Pledge me, pledge me, Phyllis mine,
In this cup of rosy wine!
Drink to Life, to Love, to Laughter,
Drink to everything that’s jolly,
Hence with time and the hereafter,
And with aught that’s melancholy.
Let’s drive forth all care and sorrow
To the never-born tomorrow.
“Kiss me, kiss me, Phyllis mine,
While my eyes look into thine!
There I see two laughing fairies
Full of love and mischief making,
Whose emotion quickly varies,
Now with roguish laughter shaking,
Then with sudden seriousness
Asking for a long caress.
“Pledge me, pledge me, Phyllis mine,
While the liquor leaps divine!
Wreath the cups with showers of roses,
White and red and pink and yellow,
Weave them into fragrant posies
Round about the wine so mellow,
That with flowers and song we may
Lie and laugh the whole spring day.
“Pledge me, pledge me, Phyllis mine,
While the April skies are fine!
Spring’s the time for love and laughing,
Tender glance and shy caresses;
Wherefore let’s the bowl be quaffing
While the sun through these bright tresses
Shoots his amorous beams and tries
To catch the gold that in them lies.”
We had barely ceased applauding Jack’s song, when a knock came at our door and a voice inquired if Master Dale stayed within.
“ ’Tis Belwether’s voice,” said Ben. “He has returned from Newark. Come in, Master Belwether, and drink my health. We are having a party in honour of my birthday. Nay, man, be not bashful. Sit thee down and drink off thy pot.”
“Your good health, Master Tuckett,” said Belwether. “Nay, gentlemen, I had no idea of what you were at, but, as you know, the Governor sent me to Newark t’other day, and I am just come in again, and did wish for Master Dale there so that I could give him a letter that his mother entrusted to my care as I passed Dale’s Field an hour ago.”
“Are they all well there?” I asked, as he gave me the letter. “Indeed I am beholden to you for this service. We had had no news of them for a fortnight—had we, Ben?”
“Open thy letter and read,” said Ben. “Master Belwether, another pot of wine for thy good news. Now, Will, read it aloud.”
But I had gone to the light and was reading the letter before he spoke, and all of a sudden I let the sheet fall from my hand and fell back against the wall, overwhelmed by the evil tidings I saw there.
“Bad news!” cried Jack, and seized me, while Ben picked up the letter and the other two came to my side. “Let me be, Jack—see, I am all right again. Read, read, Ben, ’tis bad news indeed.”
It was but a short letter from my mother, telling me that all was well with them, but that three days earlier two messengers had arrived at Dale’s Field, bringing a note from Philip Lisle to Rose, saying that he lay wounded to death in Derbyshire and begging her to go to him at once. Whereupon, under the escort of the two messengers, she had set out in obedience to her father’s dying wish. That was all.
We looked into each other’s faces as Ben finished, and each saw dismay and fear on the other’s countenance. “Villainy, villainy,” muttered Jack. “The father is here, alive and well. Who hath done it?”
So we stood for a moment until Philip Lisle seized my arm and dragged me from the room. “We must follow!” said he. “Would God we had known of this three days ago!” And so presently we were on our horses and stealing through the enemy’s lines, and once clear of them we headed for Dale’s Field as fast as our steeds could carry us.