Chapter 24 - No Quarter! by Mayne Reid
On the Bridge
The river Avon bisecting the city of Bristol was spanned by a bridge; one of those quaint structures of the olden time, with a narrow causeway, high tête-de-pont, and houses along each side. There were shops and dwellings, with a church of rare architectural style and rarer proportions—being but twenty-one feet in width, while over seventy in length!
A conspicuous and important part did this bridge of Bristol play in the political action of the time; for it was invested with a political character. Creditable, too; the dwellers upon it—the “Bridgemen,” as called—being all warm partisans of the Parliament. As a consequence, it was a favourite assembling-place for the citizens so disposed; especially in evening hours, after the day’s work had been done.
Though dark and keenly cold that seventh of March night, it did not deter a number of them from congregating, as was their wont, about the bridge’s head, to talk over the news and events of the day, with the prospects and probabilities for the morrow. The fervour of their patriotism rendered them regardless of personal discomfort or exposure; just as one may see at a political meeting in the present time the thronging thousands, packed thick as mackerels in a barrel, standing thus for hours, up till midnight—ay, morning, if leave be allowed them—eagerly listening to hear words of truth and promise, with the hope of the promise being fulfilled.
I know no more pleasing or grander spectacle than that to be witnessed from a Liberal platform, a sea of faces—the faces of the people—by their expression giving proof of man’s natural inclinings to what is good and right, and abhorrence of what is wicked and wrong.
Nor can I conceive any shabbier spectacle than the crowd which usually displays itself before a platform where Toryism is preached. For there assemble all who are the foes of liberty, the enemies and oppressors of mankind.
Among the friends of liberty that night gathered upon the bridge of Bristol were several men armed and wearing uniform; soldiers, though not belonging to any regiment of the regular army. Volunteers, they were; a force then for the first time heard of in England, taking the place of the militia or “trained bands.” They were on guard with a young officer in command, one who afterwards made name and fame in the annals of his Country, and his sword sharply felt by its enemies. For it was Captain John Birch—the merchant-soldier.
The writers of the Restoration have flung their defiling mud at this brave man—which did not stick, however—by representing him as of humble birth, and mean calling—a common carrier, the driver of a pack-horse,—stigmas similar to that cast at Cromwell, the brewer of Huntingdon. But it should be remembered that in those days trade was not deemed degrading; and if here and there aristocratic noses were turned up at it, here and there also aristocratic people took a hand in it. What were the Coningsbys, those types of the Cavalier idea, but soap-boilers and soap-chandlers, holding a monopoly from the King for the making and selling of this useful commodity? As for John Birch, he was neither base-born nor of humble occupation; instead, engaged in honourable merchandise, and, for the times, on a somewhat extensive scale. His correspondence, extant, so far from proving him coarse or illiterate, shows both refinement and education beyond most of his contemporaries—soldier or civilian—even superior to that of the King himself.
In intelligence and courage few were his equals, while, as a partisan leader, he is entitled to first place; some of his feats in the guerilla line reading more like the fictions of troubadour romance.
One of the earliest and most ardent espousers of the Parliamentary cause, he had enrolled this company of Bristol volunteers—most of them “Bridgemen”—with a detail of whom on the bridge itself he was now keeping guard; not so much against an outside enemy, but one within the city’s walls. Bristol was full of Cavalier officers, prisoners in its gaols, but many of them freely circulating through the streets on parole—ready to break it if they but saw the chance, as some of them, to their eternal disgrace, actually did; though it failed to disgrace them in the eyes of their Royal master, who rather, the more favoured them after—as with Vavasour—promoting them to higher command!
The treason not only winked at, but fostered, by the deposed governor—now in the prison of Berkeley Castle—had not all been trodden out, but was still rampant, and ready to raise its Hydra head; so that Colonel Nathaniel Fiennes had his hands full in keeping it under. But he could not have had a better man to help him than John Birch. The young captain of Volunteers was especially prepared for this duty; since he had himself suffered from the late governor’s delinquency—the insult of having been placed under arrest. So, tempered to vigilance, if not revenge, he held guard upon the bridge-head, watchful and wary, carefully scrutinising all who passed over it.
While thus engaged he saw a party approaching of such singular composition as to attract him more than common. Little man with a wooden leg; tall woman nearly twice the man’s height; between the two a donkey, with pair of panniers—Jack, Winny, and Jinkum.
If Birch was not himself a pack-horse carrier, in his capacity of trading merchant he was well acquainted with all the country routes, and the modes of traffic and transit thereon. At a glance he took in the character of the cadgers; saw they were rustics fresh from the country; and, by the direction from which they were approaching, concluded they must have made entry at the gate towards Gloucester. On the bridge there was light in plenty, both from lamps and shops; and, as they came close, a scrutiny of their features gave the sharp-witted captain an idea that they, too, were of quick wit, especially the woman. She looked like one who did not tramp the roads without seeing what was to be seen, and hearing all that could be heard; one, moreover, capable of forming a correct estimate of how things stood, social, political, or military. If from Gloucester, or even Berkeley, she or the man might have picked up some scraps of news worth extracting from them.
Stepping out into the middle of the causeway, he confronted the cadger party, and brought it to a stop, with the interrogation:
“Whence come you, my worthy people?”
“Frae Gloster, yer honner,” responded Jack, spokesman by right of sex and seniority.
“And what’s your business in Bristol?”
“Only our reg’lar business, sir. As ye see, us be cadgers.”
“But your panniers appear to be empty!” said the officer, peeping into and giving them a shake. “How is that?”
The question was awkward, nonplussing Jerky, and, the second time, calling for explanation from his sister; who, however, promptly vouchsafed it.
“Ye see, master, us be come to Bristol to take back some things Gloster way, an’ far ayont. Us belong to the Forest o’ Dean.”
“Ah! All that way off. And when left you the Forest country?”
“A good week agone, yer honner,” Jerky giving the response.
“At least that, I should say,” rejoined the officer, with a look at the wooden leg. “Well, you must have seen and met many people upon the road, especially between this and Gloucester. Can you tell me whether—”
He ceased speech abruptly, seeing it was overheard by the street passengers, who, attracted by the oddness of the group, had begun to gather round it.
He was about to demand of the cadgers, sotto voce, where they intended putting up, with a view to further conference, when a man of herculean stature—soldier in cavalry uniform—made appearance inside the circle of bystanders, going straight up to the woman, and speaking some words, as one who had familiar acquaintance with her,—
“Ah! Sergeant Wilde,” said the Volunteer officer, “you know these people, do you?”
“I ought to, Captain. All o’ us war born an’ brought up in the Forest o’ Dean, not very far apart.”
“Enough,” said, or rather thought, Birch, who, after a whispered word with the colossal trooper, gave permission for the cadger party to pass on over the bridge.
Rob went with them; soon as beyond earshot of the crowd, saying:
“Dear Win! I ha’ got leave o’ guard duty for the whole o’ an hour. Captain Trevor coined back to the gate ’most the minnit ye left it. When I tolt him who’d passed through, it war, ‘Rob, go and see to their bein’ stowed in comfortable quarters.’ Kind o’ him, warn’t it?”
“Deed war it,” answered Win, but without thinking it strange; her woman’s instinct told her the why and wherefore of Captain Trevor’s kindness.
Jerky seemed less satisfied than either of the other two; for a reason he knew of, equally known to his sister. That detention on the bridge’s head had been torture to him; it might forfeit the reward promised and expected. She cared less for it, hers already gained, in having her beloved Rob once more by her side.
The two, talking of old things and times, might have lagged upon the way, had Jack given them time and opportunity, which he did not; on the contrary, urging greater haste than ever, while persuading Jinkum to make still better speed by a multiplication of “gee-ups,” and a storm of solid thwacks administered by the cudgel.
But they had not reached the Bird in the Bush—were scarce beyond sight of the people who saw them depart from the bridge—when he who had just held speech with them was accosted by one whose speech and air told that she, too—for it was a woman—had a secret to communicate; but, unlike the cadgeress, wanted—was impatient—to reveal it. And altogether unlike the latter otherwise was the new applicant for converse with Captain Birch—so far as could be seen of her—for she was cloaked and hooded. But when the hood was tossed back, so that she could herself see and speak freely, a face was revealed, beautiful and of delicate outlines, unmistakably that of a lady.
That she was not unknown to the young Volunteer officer might be told from the start of surprise at seeing her. Still better proof of their being acquainted in the words she addressed to him, spoken in panting haste and excitedly. He had said, interrogatively:
“What’s brought you hither, Marian?” to get for response, “You, John; your life’s in danger.”
“How? From what?”
“Treason. Even now—at this minute—there are conspirators armed and ready to start out into the streets, with a cry for the King.”
“But where?”
“Some in the house of Yeomans, others at Boucher’s. They have expectation of help from the outside; that’s why they’re gathered now.”
“How do you know it, Marian?”
“Don’t ask me, John; God help me! To think my own father is one of them—my brother, too! But your life is dearer to me than either. And you will lose it if you don’t listen to my warning.”
“Dearest Marian, I not only listen to, but believe in it. More, I’ll take instant action to stop this conspiracy you speak of, trust me for that.”
She could trust him, and did; saw that to leave him unfettered, and free for the action intended, she should no longer remain there; and pulling the hood down over her face, though not till after two pairs of lips had met under it, she lightened the cloak around her shoulders, and hurried away from the bridge-head.
Heart full of sweet thoughts, thrilled by them, the young merchant-soldier stood looking after the graceful figure till it waned and was lost in the dim light of distant lamps. No wonder he should so long continue his gaze. She was one of Bristol’s fairest daughters; daughter, too, of one of its richest merchants, and proudest; her father a man who would have seen her hurled from the parapet of that bridge, and drowned in Avon’s stream, rather than know of her having stood upon its head, and said what she had said to John Birch.
Whatever the reflections of John Birch himself about this jealously-guarded daughter, they seemed to pass away soon as she was out of sight; though not the warning she had given. This was with him still; and so vividly realistic, he lost not a moment in acting up to it. A word or two with his sergeant of guard—orders earnestly enjoined—and away went he from the bridge, with face turned towards the Castle, and step hurried as man could make, almost a run!