CHAPTER XIX.

FREE QUARTERS.

FALSTAFF. 'Sblood! 'twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too.--HENRY IV.

The redness of the moon passed away as it ascended into the blue wide vault, and its cold white lustre was poured upon the level English landscape that spread at the feet of the Scottish soldiers, as they began to ascend the heights, or gentle eminence to the northward of Ipswich. Above the winter-smoke of the dense little town, the spires of its churches stood out in bold relief, like lances glittering through a sea of gauze; and the _wich_ or bend of the beautiful Orwell swept in a silvery semicircle, like a gleaming snake, among the fallow fields and leafless copsewood; and far around the scenery spread like a moonlit map or fairy amphitheatre. All was still in the town below; at times, a light twinkled, or a voice rang out upon the quietness that reigned there, but the Scots' Royals, who were halted on the brow of an eminence, over which wound the northern road (the way to their distant home), heard nothing to indicate the success of their comrades.

Anon a vast blaze gleamed broadly and redly on the night, revealing a thousand striking objects unseen before,--the church of St. Peter, with its gleaming windows, and the Gothic façade of Wolsey's ruined college. A loud explosion followed, a shout rose up from the town below; then all became still, and it seemed, as before, to float in the calm misty light of the silver moon.

"Finland has blown up the English magazine," said the Earl; "and here he comes."

The clatter of hoofs and wheels ringing in the narrow streets, and rumbling above the hollow bridge of the Orwell, approached; steel caps flashed in the moonlight above the parapet, the gleam of arms was reflected in the surface of the river, and in a few minutes Douglas, Walter Fenton, Gavin of that ilk, and their party seated on the tumbrils, dashed up with four pieces of beautiful brass cannon, marked with the broad arrow and red rose of England, and drawn by twelve horses captured for the occasion.

"Bravo, Finland!" exclaimed the Earl; "here are four braw marrows for old Mons Meg."

"Would to heaven, my lord, they were in the Maiden Castle alongside of her, with the standard of the Cock o' the North waving over them!"

"How so?--art faint-hearted, man?"

"Tush, I am a Douglas.--Ask Gavin."

"What news, my tall grenadier?--You have the rix-dollars, I hope."

"My Lord Earl, the devil a tester. This English burgomaster was not a whit dismayed by my threats, but assailed me with a band of tip-staves; so, with drawn rapier, I was glad to beat a retreat and gain Finland's band with my skin whole."

"And what think you inspired him to beard us thus?" asked Walter.

"By the head of the King, I care not!" said Dunbarton, setting his teeth and rising in his stirrups. "I will hang him from yonder steeple and inquire after."

"Jeddart justice all the world over," muttered old Wemyss.

"He had received news that Sir John Lanier, with his regiment of Dragoon guards and Langstone's horse, have already reached Saffron Waldron, in which case it were madness in us to tarry."

"Gavin, must we then retreat?" said the Earl, colouring with passion. "Who brought these evil tidings?"

"An English gentleman."

"Pshaw--I don't think he can be relied on."

"I know him to be a man of good repute," replied Gavin: "Sir Tufton Shirley of Mildenham. He fought for the King at Sedgemoor. I warrant him brave and honourable as any cavalier in his country."

"Be advised, noble Earl," urged the grim old Laird of Drumquhasel; "every moment is worth the life of a brave comrade."

"Indubitably so," added the Reverend Dr. Joram, as he spurred a prancing mare which he had borrowed unconditionally, with holsters and saddle-bags, from the host of the Bulloign-gate. "As Sir John Mennys saith in his 'Musarum Delicæ'--

"Hee that fights and runnis away, May live to fight----"

Ye know the rest, sirs."

"We are not wont to make such reservations, reverend sir; but you are in the right," replied the Earl. "March in silence, comrades, and with circumspection. Keep your ranks close and your matches lighted--forward!"

About midnight they passed Needham, a town on the Orwell. All was dark and silent; scarcely a dog barked as they marched through its deserted streets, and continued their way, by the light of the stars, across the fertile country beyond. The fugitive Scots marched with great care and rapidity; four hundred miles lay between them and their native land, a long and perilous route, on which they knew innumerable dangers and difficulties would attend them.

De Ginckel, the Dutch Earl of Athlone, Sir John Lamer, and Colonel Langstone, with six regiments of horse and dragoons, and Major Maitland with a brigade of the renegade Scottish Guards, were pressing forward by various routes to intercept and cut them off. No man dared, on peril of his life, to straggle from the ranks; for, as Scotsmen and Loyalists, they were doubly enemies to the English peasantry, who would infallibly have murdered any that fell into their hands, as they had done all the Scottish wounded and stragglers after the battle of Worcester. And thus, animated by anxiety, hope, and the exhortations of the gallant Dunbarton and his cavaliers, they marched--all heavily accoutred as they were--with such amazing rapidity, that, long ere daybreak, they had left Bury St. Edmunds, with its ancient spire and once magnificent abbey, twenty miles behind them.

Making detours through the fields, cutting a passage through walls, hedges, and fences, they avoided every town and village, and more than once were brought to a halt by Gavin, who led the avant guard, declaring that he saw helmets glittering in the light of the waning moon. They forded the waters of the Lark, and the cold grey light of the winter morning began to brighten the level horizon, throwing forward in dark relief the distant trees and village spires, as they came in sight of Ely, without having encountered their Dutch or English foemen.

The cold was intense; and the same white frost that powdered the grassy lawns and leafless trees encrusted the iron helmets and corslets of the soldiers, whose breath curled from their close ranks like smoke from a fire. To Scotsmen even the most hilly parts of the landscape appeared almost a dead level, where Ely, with its fine cathedral and street, that straggled on each side of the roadway, seemed floating in a sea of white mist, through which the Ouse wound like a golden thread. Shorn of its beams by the thick winter haze, the morning sun, like a luminous ball of glowing crimson, ascended slowly into its place, and the great tower and pinnacles of Ely Cathedral gleamed in its light as if their rich Gothic carving had been covered with the richest gilding, and the tall traceried windows shone like plates of burnished gold.

The Reverend Dr. Joram, who had dashed forward with cocked pistols to reconnoitre, returned to report, with military precision, that "it was a fair city, open, without cannon or fortifications of any kind; and that, if it contained soldiers, they kept no watch or ward. And I pray Heaven," he added, "we may get wherewith to break our fast."

"We will march in with drums beating," said the Earl. "Allons, mon tambour Major! Give us the old Scottish march, with which stout James of Hepburn so often scared the Imperialists in their trenches on the Oder and the Maine."

With drums beating, standards displayed, and matches lighted, the solid column marched into the little city of Ely just as the tenth hour rang from the cathedral bells, and halting, the Earl sent to the affrighted mayor to demand peaceably three hours' quarters and subsistence for 1,500 Scots in the service of King James. The mayor, who on the previous night had dispatched a most loyal address to the new King William, was considerably dismayed to find the city so suddenly filled by the soldiers of a nation he equally feared and detested: but to hear was to obey. The determined aspect of young Walter Fenton, with his features flushed and red by the long and frosty night march, his drawn rapier, and Scottish accent and fashion of armour, made the mayor use every exertion to get his unwelcome visitors peaceably billeted on the terrified citizens, who expected nothing less than immediate sack and slaughter.

To the Earl he sent a flowery invitation to breakfast, thus anticipating Dunbarton, who had proposed to invite himself. The other cavaliers quartered themselves on any houses that suited their fancy; and Walter Fenton, Finland, and their jovial chaplain took possession of a handsome old mansion at the extremity of the city, having with them Wemyss and a few soldiers, to prevent treachery, surprise, or inattention on the part of the occupants, whom they desired to prepare a substantial breakfast, on peril of their lives, ere the drums beat to arms.

It was an ancient, oriel-windowed house, with clusters of carved chimnies rising from steep wooden gables, around which the withered vine and dark-green ivy clambered; its gloomy dining-hall, lighted by three painted and mullioned windows, was floored with oak, and curiously wainscotted. A great pile of roots and coal was blazing in the projecting fireplace, and a shout of approbation burst from the frozen guests as they clattered in, and drawing chairs around the joyous hearth, threw aside their steel caps, and demanded breakfast as vociferously as if each was lord of the mansion, and the venerable butler looked from one to another in confusion and dismay.

"Fellow, where is thy master?" asked Finland; "why comes he not to greet the King's soldiers, if he is a true cavalier?"

"To be plain, sir, his honour took horse, and rode off whenever your drums were heard beating down-hill."

"Some rascally old roundhead! and why did he ride--was he afraid we would eat him?"

"I know not, sir; but a bold horseman is my master; and he dashed into the Ouse as if he saw the game before him."

"Or the devil behind!" added the clergyman. "Mahoud! a thought strikes me--he crossed the Ouse--what if he be gone to warn De Ginckel of our route? The Swart Ruyters were last seen at Haverhill."

"Convince us of that, Doctor," said Walter, "and we should burn this fair house to the ground-stone."

"Gadso, lad; let us have breakfast first. Harkee, butler----"

"Thou see'st, reverend sir," began the old servant, trembling.

"Avaunt, caitiff! dost thou _thou_ me? 'I am come of good kin,' as the old morality saith," cried Joram; "fetch me a pint of sack posset, dashed with ginger, and a white loaf, while breakfast is preparing; and if you would save your back from my riding-rod, and your master's mansion from the flames, see that our repast be such as not even Heliogabalus could find a fault with."

"And bring me a wassail bowl of spiced ale," said Finland.

"And me a stoup of brandy, master butler," added Sergeant Wemyss.

"And me the same," chorussed Hab Elshender and the soldiers at the lower end of the hall; while his Reverence the chaplain, stretching himself before the ruddy flames, began the old ditty of the Cavaliers of Fortune.

"Now all you brave lads that would hazard for honour, Hark! how Bellona her trumpet doth blow; Mars, with many a warlike banner, Bravely displayed, invites you to goe! Germani, Denmark, and Sweden, are smoking, With a band of brave sworders each other provoking, Marching in their armour bright, Summonis you to glory's fight, Sing tan ta, ra, ra, ra, ra, ra!"

As his Reverence concluded, he drained the sack posset, which the white-haired butler placed obsequiously before him.

"Many a time and oft have I heard my father chant that old Swedish war-song," said Finland. "He commanded a regiment of Ruyters under Gustavus."

"O Vivat! Gustavus Adolphus, we cry, With thee all must either win honour or die! Tan, ta ra, ra, ra, ra, ra!"

sang the chaplain; "O 'tis a jolly anthem. Heres to his memory--Gustavus Adolphus, the friend of the soldier of fortune--the Cæsar of Sweden--the Star of the North! I perceive, gentlemen," continued the divine, "that there are virginals and music in yonder oriel window. What say ye--shall we summon the rosy English dame, whose dainty fingers I doubt not, press those ivory keys, that she may sing us some of the merry southern madrigals King Charles loved so well?"

"Nay, Doctor, by Heaven!" said Walter, as the thought of his absent Lilian (for whose sake all the sex were dear to him) flashed upon his mind. "If there are ladies here, no man shall molest them while I can hold a rapier."

"Hear this young cock o' the game," said Joram, angrily; "he cocks his beaver like a mohock already."

"Well spoken, young comrade," said Finland; "our clerical friend hath mistaken his avocation. Instead of entering holy orders, he should have been purveyor to old Dalyel's Red Cossacks."

"'Sdeath! gentlemen," said the divine, colouring; "I only jested, and you turn on me like so many harpies. But as for you, Mr. Fenton, my pretty cavaliero, _who_ proposed burning the mansion to the ground-stone?"

"I knew not that it contained ladies."

"My lady comes of an old cavalier family, noble sirs," said the old butler, with great perturbation; "and would herself appear to greet you, but illness----"

"It is enough, good fellow," replied Finland; "how is she named?"

"She is a daughter of old Sir Tufton Shirley."

"Then God bless her!" said Joram; "her father's Hall of Mildenham can show the marks of Cromwell's bullets. And your master, gaffer Englishman--_his_ name?"

"Marmaduke Langstone," answered the servant, hesitatingly.

"Who commands a corps of Red Dragoons on the borders of Bedfordshire?"

"The same."

"Then hell's malison on him for a false, canting, prick-eared, round-headed, double-dyed traitor!" exclaimed the chaplain, furiously, as he attacked a cold sirloin, with the same energy as if it had been the proprietor. "He is now tracking us from place to place; but if he comes within reach of our cannon--Gadso! let him look to it."

A sumptuous breakfast of cold roasted beef, venison pies, broiled salmon, white manchets, cheese, butter, eggs, milk, possets of sack, tankards of spiced ale, coffee, &c. had been spread on the table of the dining-hall, by the timid English servants, whose dread and aversion of their unwelcome guests often made the latter laugh outright.

"I am glad," said Walter, as he breakfasted, "we have taken quarters in the house of so false a traitor. I should like much to have a horse; and, for the service of King James, I will mulct him of the best in his stable."

Wemyss and other soldiers, who occupied the lower end of the long oak table, were feasting, with all the voracity of famished kites, on the rich viands; but while hewing down the great sirloin in vast slices, Hab Elshender declared that he "would rather have a cogue of brose at his mother's ingle-neuk, than the best that bluff England could produce."

"And well I agree with thee, friend Hab," said the veteran Wemyss. "My heart misgives me, we will be sorely forfoughten, ere we see the blue reek curling from our ain lumheeds. But here is to Dunbarton--God bless his noble heart, and the good old cause."

"Good Wemyss, and you, my brave lads," said Dr. Joram, from the head of the table, "I crave to drink with you."

"Thanks to your Reverence--thanks to your honour," muttered the soldiers, bowing and drinking.

The meal was a very protracted one; but the moment it was over, Dr. Joram muttered a hasty blessing, called loudly for more wine, lighted his great pipe, unbuttoned his vest, and with Finland sat down to a game at tric-trac; the soldiers began to examine their bandoleers and musquets, and Walter repaired to the ample but nearly empty stables, where, from among the indifferent farm horses the necessities of war had left behind, he selected a fine-looking charger, high-headed, close-eared, square-nosed, and broad-chested, and having saddled, bridled, and caparisoned him to his entire satisfaction, led him forth just as the générale was beaten. Mounting, he galloped to the muster-place, well pleased with the acquisition the law of reprisal and the fortune of war entitled him to make.