Hugh Gwyeth: A Roundhead CavalierDix, Beulah Marie
History
Hugh Gwyeth: A Roundhead Cavalier
Dix, Beulah Marie
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
Hugh laughed, because the world was so good now he could do nothing
else, then poured out his story thick and fast,—Prince Rupert at the
“Bear and Ragged Staff,” and behind that Newick, and Woodstead, and
Ashcroft, all huddled together. “Lord save us! We must have food to help
down such a lump,” cried Dick, and, summoning the host thereupon,
ordered supper to be ready in quick time.
A drawer came speedily to fetch them candles, and barely had he gone
when one of the bluecoats, bowing his way in, handed over to Strangwayes
his sword. Dick gave him money, and bade him and his fellows go drink.
“A pleasant company I’ve been keeping, eh, Hugh?” he asked, with a dry
smile, as the man backed out. “How came I by it? Alas, a man cannot
always choose. I was about my business at The Hague, like a decent
gentleman. And that fat calf, Herbert Bellasis,—’tis a cousin to the
whole scurvy connection,—he was there on some mischief, and recognized
me.”
Just there came supper, but across the table Strangwayes drawled on: “My
friend Bellasis feared a young man like myself might come to harm in
foreign parts. So he fetched me home.”
“Fetched you, Dick?”
“Very simply. He and his bluecoats met me of a dark night in a byway. He
was urgent, but I refused his invitations. Then they picked me up and
conveyed me aboard an English ship.”
“I don’t believe they could,” Hugh said bluntly.
“To be sure, they had knocked the senses out of me, else I had not come
so meekly. ’Twas there I got this souse in the head; ’tis near healed
now. But there were four bluecoats once; one of them is still at The
Hague, cherishing a punctured lung; I gave it to him. We had a merry
passage over, Hugh; Bellasis and I must share the cabin and eat
together. He used to tell me over the wine—’twas ship’s beer and flat at
that—how I ought to be hanged, and he hoped to live to see it done. And
I used to compliment him on his mad dare-devil courage. For if at five
and thirty he durst attack a single man when he had only four to back
him, no doubt at seventy he would dare come on with only two to aid.
Nay, if he lived long enough, he might yet arrive at fighting man to
man. Methinks the length of years he had to wait discouraged him, by the
vile temper that put him in. Every pleasure has an end, so at last we
made the Welsh coast and posted hither, in the very nick of time, it
seems. For, Hugh, after this last exploit of yours, I’d be loath to
leave you fending for yourself. Man alive, where do you think you’d be
lying now, if you hadn’t chanced to take the Prince’s fancy?”
Hugh answered submissively that he didn’t know.
“Neither do I,” Strangwayes retorted grimly. “Nay, nay, don’t look
conscience-stricken now, for you found the one good chance in a hundred,
and it has all come well. But ’tis a blessing for us that his Highness
delights to fly about noisily in disguise, instead of plodding soberly
about his business. It has been more of a blessing to us, perhaps, than
to the kingdom.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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