Boscobel; or, the royal oak: A tale of the year 1651Ainsworth, William Harrison
History
Boscobel; or, the royal oak: A tale of the year 1651
Ainsworth, William Harrison
Great Britain -- History -- Commonwealth and Protectorate, 1649-1660 -- Fiction
The two gentlemen were then introduced, and their habiliments
undoubtedly bore traces of the hardships they had undergone. But
Charles was better pleased to see them thus than if they had been in
their robes of office, and said so.
Mr. Lysons, the mayor of Worcester, and a wealthy draper of the city,
was a middle-aged man, but strong and active, and had a ruddy, pleasant
countenance. Mr. Bridges, the sheriff, and by trade a glover, was a few
years younger than the mayor, and not quite so stout. Both of them had
looked exhausted when they arrived, but they brightened up wonderfully
as they entered the king's presence.
Charles advanced to meet them, and gave them his hand to kiss in the
most gracious manner possible. After congratulating them heartily on
their escape, he inquired, with an air of much interest, how they had
contrived it.
"Your majesty shall hear," replied the mayor. "It will always be a
feather in our cap to have escaped from Colonel James. With what
particular object he carried us off we know not, but it is certain he
meant to take us to Gloucester. Shortly after midnight we were brought
out of Edgar's Tower, where we had been imprisoned, and were strictly
guarded by the troopers as we rode out of the city, but no attempt
whatever at rescue was made by our fellow-citizens. Probably no one
knew at the time that we were being carried off. Little did we dream as
we rode across the bridge that we should be back so soon.
"A dreary ride we had, and our thoughts, which were not very pleasant,
were disturbed by those psalm-singing Puritans. They did not speak
very respectfully of your majesty. But we told them a day of reckoning
was at hand, and that you would drive them all before you. 'Let him
first set your worship free, and his honour the sheriff,' said one
of the troopers--a snuffling rogue, whom his comrades called Ezra.
'Ay, let him follow us to Gloucester,' observed another, who was very
appropriately named Madmannah. 'Be sure that he will follow, and force
you to evacuate the city, as you have done Worcester,' I rejoined. In
such pleasantries the time was passed.
"A halt was made at Upton-on-Severn. Now the Roundheads have no
especial dislike to ale and cider, and do not hold it sinful to indulge
in those liquors if good. Knowing the drink they delight in was to be
had in perfection at the Red Lion, at Upton, they roused the house,
and compelled the host and tapster to broach a cask of stout March ale
and another of cider. The troopers then dismounted, and tied up their
horses while they emptied their cans, leaving us to the care of Ezra
and Madmannah.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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