Great Britain -- History -- Charles I, 1625-1649 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
In the morning the rain was again falling steadily. He reconnoitered his
position. There was no dwelling near, and he determined to let his horse
rest all that day and the next night, so that he should be in trim for
anything that might happen when the pinch came. A day more or less could
make little difference with the effectual guarding of the bridge, which
was now doubtless held as strongly as it could be. He was convinced that
success must depend ultimately on the speed of his horse, and he could
not enter the contest with an exhausted animal. Bruce was never so
carefully tended as on the day before the crisis, and as his intelligent
head turned toward his master, he seemed to know that something unusual
was afoot. On the second day Armstrong thought it best not to enter
Carlisle too early in the morning. He wished to mingle with a crowd and
not to ride the streets alone. The second night in the barn, with the
rest of the day and night before, had left both himself and his horse
fit to face anything that might ensue. The day was fine; the clouds had
cleared away, and the sun was shining on the sodden ground. When he came
in sight of the main road he saw what appeared to be an army marching
North. He halted at the cross-road, in doubt regarding his next move.
The men, in a long line, were on foot, trudging sullenly, wearily
forward, water-soaked and mud-covered. No man looked up or seemed to
take an interest in anything but the dismal work in hand. Far on toward
the gates of Carlisle rode a group of horsemen, and at the rear another
squad of mounted men encouraged the laggards to keep up for a little
longer. Armstrong sat on his horse until the latter company was abreast
of him.
“That is Carlisle ahead, I hope,” said one of the officers.
“Yes,” answered Armstrong. “Is this the Manchester contingent?”
“Yes. Brutal weather we’ve had,” growled the officer.
“It was that,” assented William, cheerfully, falling into line with
them, “but it seems on the mend.”
“Aye, now that our march is finished.”
“Oh, you are likely to go farther afield, across country, when you reach
Carlisle.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account