When Charles the First Was King

It may be thought by some, who from prejudice or ignorance are not in a position to judge properly of the matter, that there is nothing in this part of England which is worth writing of or describing, so strange are the views held by outsiders of us Yorkshiremen, so peculiar the ideas which many people have respecting our land, people, and manners. There is an impression beyond our borders that we are never so happy as when engaged in a horse-dealing transaction, and it is quite true that we are fond of trade in that direction, and bad to overreach when it comes to a question of hard bargaining. Nevertheless, it is not true that we think of nothing else but horse-dealing, any more than that our county⁠—or, at least, some parts of it⁠—is not to be compared for natural beauties with other shires which have achieved more fame in that way. I have heard travelled men discourse of the fine scenery and beautiful landscapes of Cumberland and Westmoreland, and of the grandeur of Devon and Cornwall, not to speak of Derbyshire and some parts of Wales, comparing divers districts of these to the country in Switzerland and Italy, which is, I understand, as fair as anything this earth can show; but, in spite of that, it has always seemed to me that our own three Ridings can exhibit as many pleasing prospects as man need wish for; so that a Yorkshireman casting his eyes upon them must needs thank God that he has been placed to live his life amongst such delectable spots.

“I am going to find primroses,” said Rose, picking up her basket.

“I know where they grow,” said I. “Come along, and I will show you the best places.”

And so we went through the wood, gay as the spring air that breathed upon us, and talking childlike about ourselves and our fathers and of such matters as children best love to dwell on. And presently the shyness wore off and we ran along hand in hand amongst the trees, and I showed her where I had climbed the crags for the jackdaw’s nest, and took her to the bank of the Went at the place where you can throw a stone across five times in one cast, and from thence we wandered down stream to the mill, where the miller and his men peered at us through a mist of dusty whiteness, and the Went ran howling through the great wheel and fled away in thick circles of spume. And I told her about our farm of Dale’s Field, and how many horses we had, and how many cattle and sheep, with many particulars concerning Dumpling the pony, and Jacob Trusty, and Timothy Grass, and other matters upon which I loved to talk. She, in return, told me that she lived in a town a long, long way off, as indeed it must have been, seeing that it was but an hour’s ride from London itself. As for mother, or sister, or brother, she had none, nor ever remembered having, nor any other relation save her father, who was called Philip Lisle, and had business that took him much from home.

My mother had insisted on asking all our friends and acquaintance to honour us with their presence, and by six o’clock in the evening there was quite a large assemblage on our lawn, and our stables were full of horses ridden by their owners from a distance. When we were all assembled, we adjourned to the great kitchen, where we were able to accommodate nearly one hundred guests, and there we all sat down to supper, I again sitting at the head of the table, with Parson Drumbleforth on my right, and Lawyer Hook on my left. And after dinner there were speeches made, and my health was drunk, and I was loudly congratulated. But I thought somehow that Jack had the best time of it after all, for he sat next to Rose, and talked to her constantly. However, as I found out afterwards, the honest fellow was sounding my praises in her ears all the time, which was just like him. After supper was well over, we walked about on the lawn and in the orchard for a time, while Jack Drumbleforth and Ben Tuckett saw to the lighting of the lamps and candles in the barn. This done, we all went thither, and the fiddler, being supplied with a jug of ale, was bidden to ply his elbow merrily for a country dance.

And now, whether I would or not, I was forced into active participation in this war which was being fought out ’twixt Englishman and Englishman, and made to take a part in it which I had never dreamt of playing. It was the first day of July, 1644. A hot, cloudless day it had been, with never a speck on the sky that one could interpret into a sign of rain. We had got our hay in, and Timothy Grass and another man were busily engaged in thatching the two great stacks that we had built at the end of our stackyard. Early as it was, our corn was beginning to turn, and I looked forward to commencing harvest in three weeks’ time, feeling sure that the oats would then be ready. We had had no rain during the hay-harvest, and I hoped that we should be similarly favoured during the corn-harvest. If only the war would keep away from us until we got our corn in, I felt it would be well.

I walked out with Rose that evening through the meadows leading towards Went Vale. Unconsciously my feet turned in the direction I had taken that spring morning long years before, when I set out for the ruined sheepfold to find the stormcock’s nest.

“It was the first time I had gone bird’s-nesting that year,” I said to Rose as we came upon the scene. “I remember how quickly I ran off when old Jacob told me about the stormcock’s nest. It was in yonder tree; see, there is where I climbed up the trunk. Up I climbed and down I fell, lighting on my thick skull. And then came an angel clad in a red hood and cloak, and singing as she came.”

How long we slept I cannot tell, but I suddenly woke with a start to find myself lying on the floor of the little room. It was evidently night, for the light had gone, and through the window I could see a star peeping over the top of the hill which towered up above the house. My head ached in terrible fashion, and my eyes, having once opened, continued to blink at the starlight while my senses were collecting themselves. I suddenly tried to raise my hand to my head. It was fast bound to my side! and the other was similarly secured. Then my senses came back to me rapidly enough and I saw what fools we had been. The old man had drugged us, and bound us while we slept, probably to rob and murder us for the sake of our horses and our money.

I tried to move, and found that I was securely fastened at shoulders, waist and feet. I could do naught but roll about, and I turned over, hoping to strike against Philip in the darkness. I had heard him breathing when my senses came back to me, and concluded that he must be somewhere near me and in like plight to myself. But I had not taken more than two rolls across the floor in the direction in which I fancied him to be, when I heard sounds outside the window which made me hold my breath and lie as motionless as a log of timber.