The Splendid Spur: Being Memoirs of the Adventures of Mr. John Marvel, a Servant of His Late Majesty King Charles I, in the Years 1642-3Quiller-Couch, Arthur
History
The Splendid Spur: Being Memoirs of the Adventures of Mr. John Marvel, a Servant of His Late Majesty King Charles I, in the Years 1642-3
Quiller-Couch, Arthur
Great Britain -- History -- Charles I, 1625-1649 -- Fiction
By the time ’twas found and lit, there was a dozen of Col. John Digby’s
dragoons about us: and before the two villains were bound, comes a half
dozen more, leading in Captain Settle, that had taken to his heels at
the first blow and climb’d the hill, all tied as he was about the hands,
and was caught in his endeavor to clamber on Molly’s back. So he and
Black Dick and Jeremy Toy were strapp’d up: but Reuben Gedges we left
on the road for a corpse. Yet he did not die (though shot through the
lung), but recovered—heaven knows how: and I myself had the pleasure to
see him hanged at Tyburn, in the second year of his late Majesty’s most
blessed Restoration, for stopping the Bishop of Salisbury’s coach, in
Maidenhead Thicket, and robbing the Bishop himself, with much added
contumely.
But as we were ready to start, and I was holding Delia steady on Molly’s
back, up comes Billy and bawls in my ear—
“There’s a second horse, if wanted, that I spied tether’d under a hedge
younder”—and he pointed to the field where we had first found Captain
Settle—“in color a sad black, an’ harness’d like as if he came from a
cart.”
I look’d at the Captain, who in the light of the lantern blink’d again.
“Thou bloody villain!” muttered I, for now I read the tragedy of the
wagon beside the road, and knew how Master Settle had provided a horse
for his own escape.
But hereupon the word was given, and we started up the hill, I walking
by Delia’s stirrup and listening to her talk as if we had never been
parted—yet with a tenderer joy, having by loss of it learn’d to
appraise my happiness aright.
CHAPTER XVIII.
JOAN DOES ME HER LAST SERVICE.
We came, a little before midnight, to Sir Bevill’s famous great house
of Stow, near Kilkhampton: that to-night was brightly lit and full of
captains and troopers feasting, as well they needed to, after the great
victory. And here, though loth to do so, I left Delia to the care of
Lady Grace Grenville, Sir Bevill’s fond beautiful wife, and of all
gentlewomen I have ever seen the pink and paragon, as well for her loyal
heart as the graces of her mind: who, before the half of our tale was
out, kissed Delia on both cheeks, and led her away. “To you too, sir,
I would counsel bed,” said she, “after you have eaten and drunk, and
especially given God thanks for this day’s work.”
Sir Bevill I did not see, but striding down into the hall, picked my
way among the drinking and drunken; the servants hurrying with dishes of
roast and baked and great tankards of beer; the swords and pikes flung
down under the forms and settles, and sticking out to trip a man up; and
at length found a groom who led me to a loft over one of the barns: and
here, above a mattress of hay, I slept the first time for many months
between fresh linen that smell’d of lavender, and in thinking how
pleasant ’twas, dropped sound asleep.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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