Part 7

The order now came for drawing up the army in order of battle. Near Keinton, on the right, were some hedges and enclosures: among these were placed the musketeers and pikemen; and one of the most important posts was assigned to the regiment in which Cuthbert served. There were not above two regiments of horse in this wing, where the ground was narrowest; but in the left wing was placed a thousand horse under Ramsey. The reserve of horse was commanded by the Earl of Bedford, assisted by Sir William Balfour: between the Parliamentarians and the royal position, on Edge Hill, it was a fair open country. Essex having thus chosen his ground, stood still in a defensive posture, and directed three cannon to be discharged as a defiance and a challenge to the royal army: they answered readily on their part with two shot from a battery of field guns on the brow of their position. However, many of their foot regiments were quartered seven or eight miles from the main body, and had that distance to march to the rendezvous. It was past one of the clock before the King’s forces marched down the hill, with the King’s standard waving in the centre of his regiment of guards. They made a very fine and gallant appearance, especially their horse. Their trumpets sounded out in the distance, very grand to hear, and those upon Essex’s left wing sounded also. It was a glorious sight to see the royal forces move steadily on, in two lines, with bodies of reserve. They numbered not less than eighteen thousand men, and the army of Essex was very little superior in strength; for two of his best regiments of foot, and one of his horse regiments, were a day’s march behind him. However, the Parliament soldiers were no less ready for the fray than their eager adversaries.

During the solemn pause before the battle, while the hosts were drawing up face to face, and the dispositions for the attack were completing, Cuthbert felt an unaccountable sadness on his spirits. He could well imagine, from all that he heard and saw, that the feelings of a true soldier, standing opposite an army of hostile invaders, and about to fight for the altars and the hearths of his native land, must be of a most exalted and enviable description,--but how different were his. The royal standard of England was floating in the adverse line, and English voices were marshalling it for the onset: his own pupil, young Arthur Heywood, was riding in those ranks.

“Remember, men,” said the commanding voice of Maxwell, “to be silent and steady: wait for the order: reserve your fire to the last moment, musketeers; and keep your ranks, pikemen, when it comes to the push. By God’s help, we’ll drive them up that hill in worse order than they are coming down.”

In another minute there broke a sudden flash from the enemy’s line: close followed the white smoke and the thundering echo; and, by the very side of Cuthbert, a sergeant was struck down dead.

“Pick up Sergeant Bond’s partisan,” said the sergeant-major of the regiment as he was passing by: “pick it up, you Tibbs,” he repeated, in a sharp cold tone, to a supernumerary sergeant attached to the same company, and who had only a sword.

“Is this the glorious battle death?” said Cuthbert to himself,--but he had no leisure for thought: the roar of shotted guns began on both sides, and the battle fiercely opened. The musketeers of the regiment were thrown out towards a hedge, a little in front of the ground occupied by the pikemen; and a canopy of smoke soon rose above them all, veiling the golden sun and the blue heavens, and giving to all the forms and faces of those around, whether friends or foes, a shadowy indistinctness.

In the midst of all this apparent confusion, governing commands were given by beat of drum, or by the swift and intelligent service of chosen aides, or by the personal presence and loud voice, at the particular point were they were needed, of Essex himself, who commanded and fought with his foot throughout the day. Captain Ruddiman, who commanded the company of pikemen to which Cuthbert belonged, did not appear to relish the cannon balls; feeling very naturally, that however ready and able to encounter the Royalists at close quarters, there was no mode of guarding against a round iron shot; nor was he much better pleased with the spitting and whistling of musket-balls. However, being a very brave man, he stood them all as steady as a signpost, and rebuked Lieutenant Sippets for bobbing up and down in a very unsoldier-like fashion. Meanwhile Cuthbert was expressly called by Maxwell to go to the front, and take charge of a company of musketeers, the officers of which were all killed or wounded. He ran eagerly forward and was soon hotly engaged; but the royal dragoons coming up to the support of their foot, and both forcing their way on with ardour, the musketeers were withdrawn by Maxwell behind the reserve of pikemen; and these moving up in good and compact order soon came to a gallant push of pike, and drove back the enemy with severe loss; at the same time the musketeers stoutly supported the push of pike with their clubbed muskets, and made a bloody carnage in the royal ranks. In this mêlée Cuthbert owed his life to that expertness at the sword exercise for which he was indebted to the lessons of George Juxon; for by a dexterous parry he beat off the assault of a stout Royalist officer, who ran at him as he was grasping at a colour, the bearer of which had stumbled, and, killing him by a home thrust through the body, succeeded in taking the colour.

In the pause which followed on the repulse of this attack Cuthbert received the high praise of Maxwell, and the honest congratulations of Captain Ruddiman, who, at close quarters, had himself done good service among the Royalists, making not a few bite the dust beneath the blows of a heavy poll-axe which he had found upon the field. Both parties now for awhile took wind and breath; but soon again the horse of Essex’s right wing was led by Sir William Balfour against the point of the King’s left. Their squadrons passed the flank of Maxwell’s regiment, as they advanced at a walk to take their ground before they formed up for the charge; and Francis Heywood, already distinguished by his brilliant conduct at the unfortunate affair of Pershore, passed so close to Cuthbert that they shook hands. It scarcely seemed a minute from this friendly greeting ere their trumpets sounded the charge, and with a desperate fury they galloped towards the enemy. The first line broke before them: the second was staggered; but two regiments of the royal dragoons, in reserve, came swiftly to their aid, and by the fire of their long carbines struck down a great many of the Parliament horse, and following this up by a charge, compelled them to wheel about. The royal foot now advanced again, and made a furious attack upon the right of Essex, and pushed up to the very mouths of his cannon, and drove away the gunners and spiked several of the guns; but this artillery was valiantly won back by the Parliamentarians: and the brigade of foot in which Maxwell’s regiment fought actually charged the royal dragoons with their pikes, and drove them back in disorder, with the loss of a great many men and horses. It so happened, in this last movement, that when the two parties were close together, Cuthbert caught a momentary but a very distinct view of the fine countenance of young Arthur Heywood, and heard him cry aloud, “Strike home, lads, for God and the King!” The smoke of battle soon hid the vision, and the royal dragoons were compelled to retire.

Prince Rupert had beaten the left wing of Essex, and was in full pursuit; but as night drew on the horsemen of the Prince were seen returning to the field of battle; and as the right wing had maintained its ground stubbornly, the battle ended by the King retiring to the hills, and leaving Essex in possession of the field, where he kept his troops together throughout the night. Both sides laid claim to the victory, and both gained some advantages in the fight, but their losses were very heavy and nearly equal. However, Essex slept upon the field of battle, and was joined in the night by most of the fugitives from his left wing, and was further reinforced by the arrival of two good regiments of foot and one of horse.

The sun had no sooner set on the evening of the battle than it began to freeze hard; and it being Cuthbert’s turn for outline guard, he was posted at the end of a considerable enclosure, near some large gaps, which had been made by the enemy in their attacks to admit of their bringing up their cannon and their cavalry. The slaughter near this spot had been considerable, and Cuthbert had to plant his sentinels among mangled and naked corpses; but in the gloom and obscurity of night the only appearance they presented was that of pallid and stony objects without a shape. He was surprised to find himself insensible to any feeling but the low animal sensations of hunger, cold, and weariness. He sat round the watch fire with the men composing the guard, and ate ravenously of such coarse provisions as were issued. His share of the plunder had been a large warm horseman’s cloak, which his corporal had found among the slain of the King’s guards, and which he now folded about him as he lay down to rest with a very thankful but somewhat a selfish sense of comfort. He gave orders that he should be waked at every relief of the sentinels, and then sunk into a deep slumber, from which he was aroused, within two hours, to go his rounds. When he returned from them all disposition for sleep had departed. He trimmed the watch fire, and was soon the only one awake near the spot except the sentinel. A little book, with silver corners and clasps, lay on the ground, where it had apparently been thrown by one of the soldiers: it attracted the eye of Cuthbert by the gleaming of its silver clasps,--he took it up; the covers were smeared with dirt: he opened it,--it was a Book of Common Prayer: a leaf was folded down at the collect for the day; and in the inside of the cover was written the following quotation from George Herbert:--

“Sundays observe:--think, when the bells do chime, ’Tis angels’ music.”

He knew the handwriting; it was that of Katharine: he knew the book; he remembered the Sabbath morning when she first presented it to her cousin Arthur. He thought upon that glimpse which he had caught of his pupil’s countenance in the battle, and he shuddered with apprehensions.

CHAP. X.

Great God! there is no safety here below; Thou art my fortress; thou that seem’st my foe, ’Tis thou that strik’st the stroke, must guard the blow. QUARLES.

Although the malice of the hypocrite Daws had been disappointed by the result of his wicked artifices at Cheddar fair, and the worthy Noble had been saved from the injury and ruin which a lawless rabble were instigated to inflict on that peaceful man of God, yet Daws, being unsuspected and secure from detection, did not relax his efforts for the persecution and ejectment of Noble.

He contrived to have him haled before a committee of religious inquiry which visited those parts soon after; but here again he was baffled: for one of the commissioners being pricked in his conscience by observing the godly simplicity of the good parson of Cheddar, and the sincerity of his love to the blessed Saviour of the world, procured his dismissal from that ordeal unharmed. Nevertheless Daws continued to work secretly for his own ends, and gave himself no rest in the pursuit of his great object. He had the reputation of great strictness and sanctity as a minister,--and the outward man imposed upon many; in his heart he cared not for the souls of men; his sins were those which often and long escape the detection of the world, and which can be indulged under the cloak of religious zeal without exciting the suspicions of any, but those honest and sagacious persons who can detect a character by indications of its spirit too slight and fine to be admitted as important by the multitude. He was avaricious and tyrannical: money was his idol; and to subject the minds of a congregation was his next delight. From his pulpit he dealt forth the most fierce and cruel fulminations against all unbelievers. Nor was he without many trembling followers, whom he scolded and comforted, according to the caprice of his own temper.

“He damned the sins he had no mind to, And spared the few he was inclined to.”

In his creed, the prayers and alms of any one who did not exactly entertain his notions of faith were sins, and would be visited as such. Now Parson Noble was a minister who bowed his knees before the Father of mercies as a self-abased sinner, confessing himself without grace or strength to will or to do, save of God’s free mercy, communicated through and for Christ’s sake. He taught all his people that if they asked the gifts and graces of repentance and faith in that precious name they could not be denied, and should never be sent empty away: to proclaim the message of peace and reconciliation was his delight; to invite all freely, to tell of a pardon to the human race, which, under the present dispensation of mercy, was the common right of all who were _willing_ to accept it, was his constant practice; and he showed them plainly that if they came not to the light, it was because they loved darkness; because they could not part with their sins, and shrunk from the Gospel as a rule of life. “Love,” he would say, “worketh no ill to his neighbour, therefore love is the fulfilling of the law. Love is keeping the commandments: God is love, from whom they came. Jesus is love, by whom they were taught, magnified, and perfectly obeyed, that in his sacrifice of himself, as a pure and spotless victim, we might have an all-sufficient atonement, and hope towards a God who had taken our nature upon him, and been manifest in the flesh.” Now Daws held that Noble was a blind leader of the blind, and that both would fall into the ditch; and he desired, first, the proceeds of Cheddar living in his pocket, and, next, the gratification of telling the flock of Noble that they were one and all in the broad road to destruction.

Nor did this insidious priest fail to spread all sorts of calumnies about the poor unconscious vicar, and to irritate many furious zealots against him. He kept up a constant correspondence with a political partisan in London, to whom he gave much information on local and county matters, stretching his invention not a little when he had to tell any thing against the Royalists of those parts. By this means he got a name as a person well affected to the Parliament, and greatly interested in the cause of religious liberty.

It so happened, that, in the November immediately following the breaking out of the war, and the great battle of Keinton, a body of Parliamentarian horse being quartered in his neighbourhood, Daws found a fit instrument for his purposes on Cheddar, in a most furious and bigotted fanatic, who commanded a troop of horse. This man was easily persuaded that he could not render a more acceptable service to God than by destroying with fire and sword all places, all persons, and all things, which were, in his own view, defiled, and idolatrous, and impure; and he therefore sallied forth against the church and the parson of Cheddar as he would against a temple and a priest of Baal.

On the day on which old Noble was ejected from Cheddar, with many circumstances of cruelty and hardship, he arose, as usual, with some fears, but with unshaken trust in the goodness and mercy of an all-wise and almighty Father. The day was cold, and not a sunbeam was admitted through the cloud and gloom which brooded over all things. It chanced that the stout and resolute old franklin Blount had determined that his grandchild should be publicly baptized at the same ancient font at which his own venerable forehead had been signed with the sign of the cross. There was some doubt in the mind of his son-in-law, Hargood, whether it was prudent at that moment of busy persecution, on the part of the county committee, to make so open a display of devout attachment to the hallowed ceremony of a christening. His loving daughter, from a tender apprehension about her infant’s safety, if any thing should fall out amiss, would have stolen to church, at the earliest possible hour, and in the most quiet manner. However, habits of submission to her father, formed by an admiration of his character, were of so long a growth, and so deeply rooted, that the remonstrance of her fears was not ventured on; indeed Blount would have held it craven to yield to the timid suggestions of prudence, where he looked to a principle in his conduct. It is not improbable that some shadow of a domestic tragedy had been cast upon the old man’s solitary thoughts; for, within a few days past, there had been observable in his manner a mixture of severity and gentleness at once strange and affecting. He had twice been found in the large oak parlour alone, reading from the Book of Martyrs, which was there chained upon a tall desk. It is true that on both these occasions he had whistled and walked away quick; but it was afterwards remembered. Howbeit, at ten o’clock in the forenoon, there issued from the porch of the franklin’s old mansion a small party consisting of about eight persons, male and female: one of the last bore in her arms an infant so folded up and hidden in a large mantle of thick white woollen, that nothing but a little outline of the babe could be seen, and not a breath of the keen wintry wind could penetrate to its tender frame. They moved slowly, and in a formal order up the long straggling street; and all the villagers who met them by the way, or looked at them from their doors, saluted them with bows and good words, but with evident and anxious wonder. A faithful woodman ventured to go close and whisper to Master Blount that he was just come in from Axbridge, and saw some of the rascal Roundheads mustering, and that he heard say, at the Old Pack-horse Inn, that they were going to march for Wells by the road of Cheddar. “Well, let them come,” said the franklin; “we are not doing any thing to be ashamed of: let them see us doing as their forefathers did before us, and redden in the face for their own falsehood; ‘church and king’ is an old cry and a good one: out upon the knaves!--God will defend his own.”

The party went forward; and having reached the churchyard, passed into the church by the low chancel door, walked down the great aisle, and turned into the southern transept. Here stood the font; here the worthy parson awaited them, and his wife also, who was by a promise of long date to stand as godmother to the child. The old stone font, round which this pious family were assembled, had long been an object of great veneration to the inhabitants of Cheddar. It was octagonal in form, and supported upon a clustered shaft of Purbeck marble. The compartments on its sides were sculptured with scenes from Holy Writ. In one was represented the circumcision of Christ; in another the same blessed Lord was figured in manhood, with a little child in his arms, and his disciples standing round: through age and injury the subjects in the other compartments were no longer discernible.

Above the font was a window of painted glass, which, as there was no light of the sun to illuminate its gorgeous groups, did only present to the eye a dim cold grandeur;--a grave and visionary glory, through which, as in the pages of unaccomplished prophecy, might be caught bright glimpses of pale and celestial faces, and yet garments crimson withal, as though they had been rolled in blood.

In this solemn light, and around this sacred font, the family of Blount reverently kneeled, and the service proceeded. The babe lay still and unconscious in the arms of the old franklin’s wife; and nothing told of its young life but a soft breath from parted lips, and a faint flush upon a waxen cheek. By its side knelt the fair mother, delicate and colourless, with eyes bent on the ground, and a forehead over which fears flitted, and disturbed her prayers.

Of all the party none save the sweet infant was so calm as Blount himself. Upon the throne of the old man’s heart his God was seated, and his soul was at peace. In fancy and in spirit he was again the subject of that holy rite. When Noble took the babe in his arms, and it opened its blue eyes and stretched out its little helpless hands, and as it felt the sprinkled water, and was signed with the sign of the cross, gave that little cry for which mother and nurse listen so fondly, a few large tears dropped from the eyelids of the stalwart franklin, and the voice of Noble faltered a little as he saw them fall. The solemn declaration by which the child is received into Christ’s flock was completed, and was responded to by the deep and fervent Amen of Blount, and the gentler tones of those around him; and the good parson was proceeding to the thanksgiving that follows, when that fearful sound, which is made up of the trampling of horses, and the rattle of harness, and the blast of the trumpet, was heard at the church doors in the opposite transept. Their heavy leaves were thrown open with a sudden and violent crash, and two of the horsemen rode into the body of the church, accompanied by three severe and sour looking persons in sad coloured doublets, and narrow crowned hats, and followed by some low rabble, with whom, in fear and curiosity, a few of the good folk of Cheddar intermingled.

“I have a message for thee, thou priest of Baal,--thou blind leader of the blind,--thou whited wall,” said he, whose caparisons bespoke him the chief, laying the flat of his sword with a smart stroke upon the neck of Noble. “Thou art weighed in the balance, and found wanting: thou must come with me; thy mummeries and thy knaveries shall no more pollute the sanctuary.”

“Dost thou not fear God?” said the meek but undaunted Noble, with a firm voice and unshrinking mien. “Dost thou not fear God, that thus thou comest to his holy temple? To what manner of man was it told, that it were better for him a millstone were tied about his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones? I tell thee, the angel of that helpless babe doth, even now, behold the face of his Father, which is in heaven, and beareth witness against thee.--Go forth. I myself will follow thee, whithersoever thou wouldest, be it to judgment or to death; but this hoof-clatter in the courts of the Lord is a most abominable sin.”

“Now will I do so, and yet more, thou hypocrite, thou whitened sepulchre!” so saying, the fanatic plunged his spurs into the flanks of his frightened war-horse, but the fretted and gallant beast did only rear, and chafe, and champ the bit. Meanwhile, the young mother, with her child in her bosom, and the other women round her, had sunk back into the corner of the transept in terror. Old Blount and his son-in-law interposed between the horsemen and Noble, and demanded of them loudly to quit the sacred building.

“I ask ye not,” said he, “as Christians, for that ye cannot be, but for your manhood’s sake, to suffer, that these poor terrified women pass forth with the infant in peace; for ourselves, though we be unarmed, we will abide your wrath as best we may.”

“Let not thine eye pity,” said a harsh voice from behind the horsemen: “blessed be he that taketh her children and dasheth them against the stones. Woe to the idolaters! woe!--The priest shall be slain at the altar, and the water of the Babylonish font shall be red with the blood of sacrifice.”