Chapter 67 - No Quarter! by Mayne Reid
A Guard Carelessly Kept
Notwithstanding Lunsford’s assurances—at best rather dubious—the river could not be crossed at Westbury, without much difficulty and delay. The large horse-boat had received some damage, and it would take time to repair it. So Rupert and his following were constrained to keep on to Framilode Passage, three miles farther up stream.
It would bring them into dangerous proximity with Gloucester; and should any of Massey’s men be raiding down the river, they might find an enemy in front, even when over it. Still this was little likely, as Massey was believed to be himself out of Gloucester, operating on the northern side in the direction of Ledbury. Besides, Walwyn must have had information of their being at Hollymead, to have drawn him into the Forest at that time of the night.
Still from behind was the Prince most apprehensive of danger; now greater by the traverse of flooded tracts that must needs be made before they could reach the Passage. His failure to get across at Westbury seemed ominous of evil; and he had grown more nervous than ever. What if he should fail also at Framilode? Then, indeed, would he have to risk encounter with the redoubtable Foresters, outnumbering his escort, as he knew.
Already had they passed across several stretches of inundated ground; at each the rear-guard being left on the dry land till the main body was well-nigh through; and then following on to the next. But now one of longer extent lay before them; more than a mile of road leading on to the ferry being under water. Still the causeway, or rather where it ran, could be told by certain landmarks; and these Lunsford, as others of the escort, was acquainted with. But the flood was high over it, and the fording must be done cautiously, entailing loss of time. Moreover, if caught on the narrow way, with no chance of manoeuvring, scarce width enough for an “about face,” any party pursuing would have them at a disadvantage—almost at mercy.
Greater vigilance would be called for on the part of the rear-guard, its strength needing to be doubled. And this was done; the Prince, before taking to the water, himself inspecting it, and giving minute instructions to the officer in command. It was to be kept in ambush behind some trees that grew conveniently by; and, should pursuers appear, they were to be fired at, soon as within range; the firing continued, and the point held at all hazards, till the last moment of retreat practicable. If no pursuit, then the guard to follow as before, at signal of bugle sent back.
Reginald Trevor it was to whom the dangerous duty was assigned; and, as regarded courage and acquaintance with the ground, no officer of the escort was better fitted for it than he. None half so well, had his heart been in the work. Which it was not, but all the other way; for every movement he was making, every act he had been called upon to accomplish since leaving Bristol, was not only involuntary on his part, but sorely against his will. Forced upon him had been the ceremony of introducing Prince Rupert to the woman he himself loved; and now was he further compelled to be one of those conducting her to a prison—as it were to her grave! For, well knew he it would be the grave of her purity, the altar on which her young life’s innocence was sure of being sacrificed.
In the past, sinful himself, profligate as most of the Cavalier school, he had of late become a much altered man. That one honest love of his life had purified him, as such often does with natures like his. And now a great sorrow was to seal his purification; the object of his love about to suffer defilement, as it were before his face; and as it were, with himself aiding and abetting it!
His thoughts were black and bitter, his constrained duties repulsive. And as he stood by the flood’s edge, looking after the escort that had commenced making way through it, he felt faint and sick at heart.
Nor took he any steps to carry out the commands of the Prince, either by placing the guard in ambush, or making other disposition of it. So the men remained in their saddles, exposed on the high ridge of the road, just as they had come up; receiving but one order from him: that, should pursuers appear, they were not to fire till he gave the word.
After which he separated from them, and walked his horse back along the Westbury road; stopping at some fifty paces’ distance, and there staying alone. The soldiers thought it strange, for they had overheard the instructions given him. But as they were acquainted with his courage, and could not doubt his fidelity to the King’s cause, they made no remark about his apparent remissness, supposing it some strategic design.
Yet never was officer entrusted with guard less careful of his charge, than he at that moment. Caring, but not for its safety; instead, wishing it attacked, defeated, destroyed, though he himself might be the first to fall. For still another change had of late come over his sentiments—a political one. Brought about by the behaviour of Prince Rupert and his associate crew; which, for some time past, had been a very career of criminal proceeding. It had inspired Reginald Trevor with a disgust for Cavalierism, as his cousin Eustace two years before. Growing stronger day by day, the last day’s and this night’s work had decided him. He was Royalist no more, though wearing the King’s uniform. But he meant casting it off at the first opportunity; was even now blaming himself for not having sought an opportunity since they passed through Mitcheldean; reflecting whether, and in what way, such might yet be found.
As he sate in his saddle, listening, glad would he have been to hear hoof-strokes in the direction of Westbury; to see horsemen approaching, with the hostile war-cry “For the Parliament?” That might still save Vaga Powell, and nothing else could. In another hour she would be across the Severn, and on for Berkeley Castle, whither he must follow. But with no hope of being able to do anything for the doomed girl. On the one side, as the other, all powerless to protect her, even with the sacrifice of his own life. And at that moment he would have laid it down for her; so much had generosity, love’s offspring, mastered the selfishness of his nature.
An interval of profound silence followed; the only sounds heard being the screams of wild fowl flying low over the flooded meadows, the occasional stamp of a restive steed among those of the guard, and the plunging of nigh two hundred others far off in the water, gradually becoming less distinct as they waded farther. But, ere long, something else broke upon the night’s stillness, as it reached the ear of Reginald Trevor, causing him to start in his saddle. There sate he, listening and vigilant; the sparkle of his eyes proclaiming it no sound that alarmed him, but one welcome and joy-giving.
A dull pattering as of horses’ hoofs—hundreds—making way over soft ground, or along a muddy road. And so it was, the road from Westbury, the horses ridden by men in military formation, as the practised ear of the young soldier told him. But no other noise, save the trample; no voice of man, nor note of bugle.
Soldiers were they notwithstanding; and pursuing soldiers, led by one who knew how to carry pursuit to a successful issue. For it was Walwyn’s Horse.
Still at a gallop, their hoof-strokes were quickly nearer, sounding clearer. For there was no taking up of trail to delay them now. Away over the white water they saw a long dark line, serried, by a turn in the route which brought Rupert’s following quarter-flank towards them; saw, and knew it to be that they were after.
At the same time seen themselves by Reginald Trevor, who rode back upon his guard. But not to inspire it to resistance, nor place it in a position of defence. Instead, he seemed irresolute, uncertain whether to make stand or retreat. His men, heavy Dragoons, had unslung their dragon-muzzled muskets, and awaited the word “Fire!” But no such word was spoken, no order given. Even when the approaching horsemen were charging up to them, shouting “For God and Parliament!” even then, no command from their officer to meet or withstand the charge.
Nor did they then wish it; they saw the assailants were ten to their one; it was too late, even for retreat. Should he call “Quarter!” they were ready to chorus it. And just that called he, the instant after, to a man among the foremost of the charging party—his cousin! Their swords came together with a clash, Eustace the first to speak.
“At last!” he exclaimed. “At last we’ve met to keep our promise made. ‘No Quarter!’ I cry it!”
“And I cry ‘Quarter’—beg it.”
Never dropped blade quicker down from threatening thrust than that of Eustace Trevor; never was combatant more surprised by the behaviour of an adversary.
“What do you mean?” he asked, in utter astonishment.
“That I fight no more for Prince, or King. Henceforth, if they’ll have it, my sword’s at the service of the Parliament.”
“God bless me, Rej; how glad I am to hear you say that! And so near making mince-meat of one another!”
“Not of one another, Eust. You might have done that with me—may still, if you feel spiteful.”
“Good Heavens! cousin; what has come over you? But I won’t question now; there’s no time.”
“There isn’t. See yonder. Rupert and Lunsford, with the Powells as their prisoners.”
“We know all that. But where are the ruffians taking them?”
“Berkeley first; then Bristol. They’re making to cross at Framilode Passage. It’s but a short way beyond.”
“They shall never cross it—can’t before we come up with them. You’ll be with us now, Rej?”
“I will.”
The strange episode, and dialogue, took up but a few seconds’ time; during which Rob Wilde, with a half-score files of Foresters, had disarmed the unresisting rear-guard. It was now under guard itself, and all ready for continuing the pursuit.
And continued it was instantaneously; Sir Richard, at the head of his green-coats, spurring straight into the flood, and on after the red ones, without further precaution either of silence or concealment. For he knew they would be seen now.