John Gilbert, Yeoman: a romance of the Commonwealth

Chapter I

Concerning my birthplace and parentage. Of all the parts of England with which I have acquaintance, there is none to my mind fairer than the county of Sussex. It is not a county of wide, swift-flowing rivers and lofty mountains, of extensive plains and deep valleys, that I will willingly admit. But for fertile fields, loaded in autumn with a rich harvest of golden grain, for the greenest of meadows, watered by crystal streams and brooks, and bearing luxuriant crops of the sweetest smelling hay ; for winding, peaceful lanes, with the highest of red sandy banks, o'ertopped by arching foliage, and clothed with untold varieties of many-hued wild-flowers and nodding grasses ; for pretty villages and hamlets, nestling by the edge of leafy woods, or in the hollows of swelling downs ; for all these and numberless other charms, where, I ask, will you find the equal of Sussex?

Verily I know not. Besides all these, for me it hath other attractions. 'Tis the home of my ancestors ; the county which gave me birth ; wherein I have lived my longest years, and tasted the sweetest and deepest joys — not unmingled, it may be, with deepest B pain. And as it was my cradle, so may I find in it, if God will, my last earthly resting-place. The village of Amberley, of which I would now speak more particularly, lieth at the foot and to the north of the South Downs, being situate some twelve miles north-east of Chichester, and about fifty-four south-west of London. Five miles south lieth the town and castle of Arundel. The River Arun separateth the parish of Amberley from that of Bury ; a passage from one place to the other being effected by a ferry-boat, in lieu of a bridge. Amberley village consisteth mainly of one long scattered street, at the top of which standeth the church.

Master Newton, our worthy and learned Vicar, who hath a great liking for the study of whatsoever is antique, will have it that some part of our church was built in the reign of King Henry the Second, and that Bishop Neville of Chichester reared up the chancel somewhere about the year 1230, which, in common with most of our West Country churches, Bosham and North Stoke to wit, hath three tall rising lancet windows. I warrant the good Bishop — God rest his soul — would have opened his eyes wide at beholding some of the strange scenes which have befallen his church during these past few years. What think you of troop-horses stabled in the House of God, with head-pieces and swords and firelocks laid on His altar? And I myself have heard a long-faced, snuffling, sanctimonious Roundhead corporal knave holding forth from Master Newton's pulpit' But thank the Lord, these times be gone— for ever' I devoutly hope. ; Some httle way beyond the church standeth the Castle; which, however, Master Newton declares to be no true Castle at all.

" For," saith he, " where be your baileys, inner, outer, and middle? The walls of the enceinte, your gate-houses and posterns, your ditch, portcullis and barbican, and all the other appur tenances peculiar to a veritable Edwardian Castle? All alacking, as you know. 'Tis but a Bishop's palace ; crenellated, embattled, fortified to some extent if you will, but none the less a mansion, and not a stronghold, built for purposes both offensive and defensive. From time immemorial," quoth he, " it hath served as one of the residences of the Bishops of Chichester, whereof one, William Rede, in the year of Grace 13 79, did enlarge and strengthen it, adding those special parts which give it the air and semblance of a true Castle." Well, notwithstanding all that the Vicar saith, to me, and all other good Amberley folk, it hath alway been The Castle.

And as I behold it at this present day, dismantled, deserted, and fast falling into ruin, recalling meanwhile the part it hath played in my life, both for joy and sorrow, my mind still dwelleth on it as The Castle, and will do, that I know well, so long as God willeth that I live. For this present I leave it, having more to say thereof anon. Amberley Grange, my home, standeth on the left of the village as you go north, midway between the church and the Castle. 'Tis an old rambling place, built of red brick, with straw-thatched roof, and for the most part covered with ivy. The front of the house looketh on to a large plot of greensward, around which run wide parterres given over to the cultivation of flowers, the special care of the women folk ; their chiefest labour being to keep the growth b ■4 of their plants within reasonable bounds — so rich 19 the soil and so sheltered the situation of the garden.

At the back of the house is a small courtyard, whereof one side adjoineth the street, into which you pass through a massive door, flanked on either side by curiously twisted and, towards the top, quaintly carved stone pillars. Another door leadeth to the stackyard, and the other appurtenances of the farmstead. Attached to the Grange are some five hundred acres of land, partly arable and partly grass, of all which I, John Gilbert, Yeoman, am the proud and happy owner. And you may take my word for it, that there is naught like ownership for opening a body's eyes to the real value and beauties of a property, whether it be a house or a bit of land ! " 'Tis mine," quoth he, and forthwith, with both eyes wide open, feasteth his gaze on its manifold virtues. " 'Tis mine," quoth he, and straightway winketh his eye at any little defect there may haply be found in't. Not that I, or my father before me, ever looked at Amberley Grange with blinking eyes, that I warrant, for in our sight 'twas the sweetest and prettiest bit o' property in the whole of Sussex, and that meaneth much.

Now, in speaking of my early life, I cannot, as most men could, draw you a moving picture of my school days, full of stirring events, such as fights and flog gings, boyish friendships and enmities ; of barrings out and lockings in, with all the thousand and one little trifles that go to make up, as I have been credibly informed, the life of a boy at school. No, I can describe none of these things, for the simple reason that none such befell in my life. I never went to school. Till I was just twelve what a happy, joyous, careless life was mine! Just to think on't! No gover nors, teachers, and masters to submit myself to ; no books to thumb o'er and eke bedew with tears ; no tasks to struggle with, under the dread fear of the rod ; no frowns, no blows, to shrink from ; no iron rules to fetter my down-sitting, or uprising, my coming in, or going out ; but freedom, the absolutest freedom, from task, care, or fear. 'Twas, indeed, as good Master Newton said, the life of a wild young savage ; with Anne, my pretty blue-eyed ten-year-old sister for chief companion and playmate.

In spring and early sum mer we would pass the whole day a-birdnesting in the leafy lanes, the woods over to Pulborough, the marshes lying below the village, or further afield on the breezy downs. Then 'twould be a-maying, or haply angling in the clear waters of the Arun, or straying far and wide for wild-flowers, to make posies and bow-pots for my mother, or at festival times, garlands wherewith to adorn the church. Each season, as it came, brought its own delights, and a right gladsome life I lived up to the age of twelve. It may be, you will say, with good Master Newton, but without the merry twinkle which gleamed in his eyes, that it was merely the life of an ignorant, untrained, uncouth, savage boy. And I will admit, that beyond being able to read, thanks to my dear mother, some easy passage of two-syllabled words, I knew naught of school learning.

But could you in real truth call one an ignorant, know-nothing dunce that was ever a-studying the great book of Nature, alway lying open before his eyes ; God's book, living and speaking, and full of the most beautiful pictures limned and painted by His Own Hand? But say what you will of my early life, a too speedy end came to its freedom and gladsomeness— to my thinking. 'Twas at the end of August, on my twelfth birth day. We were at supper after a long day in the harvest-field. Suddenly my father said, nodding his head towards me _ " Dame, 'tis full time Jack went to school. He is now twelve year old, and, I warrant, still as full of ignorance as this pasty is o' good meat." " Nay, nay, John," said my mother, " sure the dear lad can read you off a page of easy words as glibly as e'er a one."

"Well, come now, that is some little beginning. Dost know aught beside, Jack ?" "Yea, a sight o' things, sir," said I confidently. " Alfred Mynns saith I can ride old Bob like a Trojan, whatever that may be, and I can set a trimmer and lay a snare, and fly a hawk ; there be some noble coveys o' partridges over to Bury Court, and 'twas only yesterday I brought down a flapper with my bow, and " but I was out o' breath. " Ay, ay," said my father gravely, shaking his head — but I caught just the faintest twinkle in his eye — " 'tis as I feared. Methinks thou'rt in a right parlous way, my son, and these rudiments o' thine, whereof thou boastest so loudly, be but stepping-stones to the stocks and the whipping-block, and thou hadst best unlearn them with the uttermost speed, or i' faith thou wilt have a rare quaking i' the legs some day ere long, before his Worship, Master Harcourt Why, sirrah, wouldst go a-slaughtering partridges in the Justice's own fields ?

And before his very eyes ? " " Nay, but the poor gentleman hath lost the use o' his eyes," said I eagerly. " Hath he, forsooth ? And how didst thou pick up that bit o' knowledge?" " Why, sir, did I not hear Master Newton say in your hearing that the Justice was blind?" Whereat my father and mother burst out a-laughing. " Jack, my son," said he, " I did thee wrong, grievous wrong. What thou lackest is not knowledge ; indeed thou'rt too full on't, and I would counsel thee first to unlearn some little of what thou hast acquired ; then we will endeavour to store thy brain with learning of a more serviceable sort, otherwise thou art like to come to a bad end." " The poor lad hath a right good heart," said my mother, " and would do aught to pleasure us, that I know." " Yea, that I would, mother," said I eagerly, " and if 'twould please you to have a rare plump pheasant now and then, 'twill be easy for me to oblige you, see ing that young Will Stokes hath promised to show me how to knock them off the larch boughs with a short, thick stick."

" Nay, marry, that will he not," said my father. " Ye be a rare brace of knavish varlets, that I vow. 'Tis time i' faith I took counsel with good Master Newton concerning thy future training." Which he did without any delay. " Let the lad come to me," said Master Newton. " I have already undertaken to prepare young Walter Harcourt for entering at the University of Oxford, and if you and Master Harcourt agree thereto — why, both the lads can begin their schooling together." " That would suit Jack's mother famously," responded my father, " for I know she is loath to send him away from home. If, therefore, Master Harcourt fall in with this arrangement, I shall be mightily be holden both to you and him."

Chapter II

Of my friendship with Master Walter Harcourt. Master Harcourt being pleased to favour good Alaster Newton's notion, it speedily came about that his son Walter and I were beginning our rudiments to gether under the Vicarage roof, becoming in a short time, as our boyish shyness wore off, the best of friends. And i' faith 'twas no hard task to fall into friendship with young Master Harcourt, for he had the sweetest humour 'tis possible to conceive of. Walter was thirteen years old when we began our studies together, tall for his age, but of slender build, with looks more fitting a girl than a boy, so exceeding delicate were all his features. At first I was minded to look down on him, on comparing my sturdy limbs with his slim form, and my ruddy cheeks with his pale face ; putting him down as a milk-sop, one who could take to books and girlish sports alone.

But I soon found that, in spite of his fragile appearance, Walter Harcourt was quite my equal in all boyish pastimes, overtopping me, indeed, in some. " Ah, 'tis blood that doth it," said Alfred Mynns, our bailiff, one day, on noting how easily he passed me in a little race we were having together. " 'Tis the blood and breed — no offence to you, Master Jack." I think Walter was always my master in everything we tried together. But now, mark his sweet humour ; there was no vaunting of his own powers, no high mindedness, nor proud stomach, as being of gentle birth, while I was but a simple yeoman's son ; no loud crowing over me for the homely country life that awaited me when he would be mixing with the noblest youth i' the land, at the great College of Oxford — nay, marry, none of this, I warrant!

For with his gentle birth went gentle manners ; of which I take it, modesty and regard for the feelings of others, generosity and kindness of humour, be no small items. Walter had i' faith a sweet, loveable nature. Of his high-mettled courage and valour you shall hear sufficient anon ; for I would certify you thus early that the hero of tbs tale — or rather history, seeing that it is all most par ticularly true — is not the writer on't, John Gilbert, Yeoman, but none other than my dear friend and former schoolfellow, Walter Harcourt. Master Newton soon put us into the learning of the Latin Primer ; and this being mastered after an in finite amount of toil, ay, and shedding of tears in private on my part, we began to read Cæsar's Wars ; then Virgil's Æneid, finally passing on to Livy and Horace.

Together with Latin and some mathe matics, we learnt a good deal about the history of our country, and the history of Greece and Rome ; the fighting parts of which, I believe, were most to our taste. And, above all, good Master Newton made us toil at the mastering of our own language, which he would have was the noblest of all, save, perhaps, Greek. In addition to the tasks we shared together, Walter furthermore went on to study Greek and other branches of learning needful for his future training at Oxford. But 'twas not all work, as I dreaded at first 'twould be, even during my school days, five hours every day being the utmost we gave to our books. Then, it might be, Walter would have me ride over to the Court, to inspect his dogs, or hawks, or go angling with him in the lake beyond the Court gardens.

Or, again, he would accompany me home to the Grange, and then, after partaking of some little refreshment, we would spend the remainder of the afternoon in some childish sport or other, my sister Anne not un frequently taking her share therein So, 'twixt work and play, three happy years sped away, bringing me to the age of fifteen. Then came the beginning of that fierce and long continued strife 'twixt King and Commons, Royalists and Roundheads, which hath deluged England with the blood of her noblest and bravest sons ; bringing unutterable grief to many a once happy home, and dividing, as 'twere, our land into two gigantic camps of war, ofttimes separating father and son, uncle and nephew, neighbour and neighbour, ay, and even mother and daughter. 'Twas a time when loyalty to " King and Faith " overpowered the feelings and ties of kinship and friendship ; when a man, in order to be true to some of his deepest feelings, must needs appear a dis loyal traitor to others ; for love's sweet sake turning his back on his King, or again, bidding farewell to love and friendship, that he might loyally and bravely combat the enemies of his Divinely appointed Sovereign.

The actual din of war happily reached not our ears ; our eyes were mercifully spared the beholding its bloodiest signs — earth stained with its children's blood ; the confusion of mangled corpses ; the dying ;' smoking homesteads and ruined crops ; empty fold yards ; blazing ricks and pillaged houses — no, by God's mercy, we saw none of these dread tokens of the actual presence of war. 'Twas the year after Edgehill that Walter left Am berley, to enter on his new life at the great University of Oxford. But, when the siege came, I fancy there was more practising of the arts of war than poring over books for such students as still remained within its walls. But the year 1644 brought him home, to console his widowed mother, his father, Master Harcourt, having fallen at the fierce, and, for the King's side, disastrous fight of Marston Moor. 'Twas only my poor mother's piteous entreaties that held my father back from buckling on his sword and marching off to strike a blow for his King and Church, for I know his conscience pricked him sore for being at home, in peace and safety, when so many others were risking their lives in such a holy cause.

A man had no need to have fought at Naseby to know how the battle ended. We poor King's folk at Amberley soon learnt who had been left, not only masters of the field, but also of the fortunes of Eng land. You could read the news in the growing in solence of the Roundhead knaves all about, in the big ness of their steeple hats, in the solemnness of their attire, in the grimness of their looks, the way they turned up their eyes, and the sanctimonious snuffle of their speech. Ay, marry, and beside all these, the kind Christian looks they cast on us, and the pretty names, such as " Malignant," and " Prelatist," " Papist," " Worshippers in Steeple houses," and divers others — these showed pretty plainly who had gotten the upper hand. These Roundhead knaves were wont to boast, loudly enow I warrant that 'twas for liberty and freedom they fought against their lawful King ; freedom in Church and State ; freedom of speech and con science.

Well, the good Lord forbid I should wrong such worthy men by a misdoubting o' their intents, but this I will avow, 'twas but little liberty they left us poor King and Church folk ! To sweep away all our good English sports and pastimes, to cut down the May-pole, to forbid the lads and lasses a little moving of their limbs in a country dance, to stop a man's mouth when he had heart enough, even then, to carol forth some joyous strain, to look askance at him when he smiled and laughed — why, call you this a giving him liberty? These be but trifles, however, whereat a man may learn to smile. But what think you o' meddling with his Faith i' the sacred name of liberty ? 'Twas piteous in the extreme to mark our old Parish Church when these friends of freedom had worked their will on it. The quaint old carving both inside and out ruthlessly hewed and hacked about, the rich stained glass windows shivered and shattered, the altar pulled up and stuck in the middle of the nave, the vestments burnt, the Service-book either mangled or destroyed — oh ! 'twas heartrending.

And then on top of this — all for Freedom's sake, mark you — came the forbidding of the use of our Book of Common Prayer, and the turning adrift from the Church and benefices of such faithful pastors as were still loyal to their priestly vows and their old faith. Oh, 'twas a sad day for Amberley, when good Master Newton was turned out of his Vicarage and church, to make way for the snuffling, thumping, loud mouthed, brawling sectary — Presbyterian, Inde pendent, Anabaptist, Antinomian, or Millenarian, it skilleth not to remember which. With a breaking heart, he came to tell us the sad tidings. " The dreaded blow hath fallen at last," said he, " and within a month at most I must bid farewell to you and the rest of my faithful flock at Amberley." " Bid farewell to us ?" quoth my father. " Nay, marry, that will you not Would you leave us to go astray like sheep witiiout a shepherd, to wander un checked, unsought for, in the ways of ungodly care lessness, sloth, and sin ?

Would you have us live with out one scrap of edifying discourse, save we seek it — which God forbid — at the hands of some usurping sectary? Shall we be wholly cut off from the means of grace in Mother Church, the Blessed Sacrament for the man, and the Holy Baptism for the tender in fant? Nay, marry, say I again! And should we suffer you, our revered priest and lifelong friend, to depart from us, seeking shelter and protection under some strange roof — the good Lord forbid — while Am berley Grange standeth with a scrap of roof on its walls, and one Gilbert remain to share his last crust with you? Nay, good sir, you shall, if it please you, dwell with us and share our store, even as Elijah the Prophet dwelt in the house of the Widow of Zare phath, or Elisha in the little chamber on the wall with the woman at Shunem, and it will go hard but we find some upper room where you may still celebrate the Divine Mysteries of the Holy Faith, and lift up your voice to the glory of God, and the building up of us, the remnant of your flock."

And thus it befell that good Master Newton be came a revered and beloved member of our httle household ; never, however, giving up the hope that, in God's time and by His dear will, he might some day minister again at the altar of our Parish Church. Which, indeed, hath been most miraculously brought about But I must hurry on to the year of Grace 165 1, two years after His Sacred Majesty King Charles had perished on the bloody scaffold at Whitehall. I was now a man of twenty-five, stout and strapping enough if you will, while Anne was a tall comely maid of twenty-three, both still living at the Grange and both unwed — in Anne's case 'twas not for the want of wooing. Walter Harcourt, my old schoolmate at the Vicarage, and ever since my tried and trusty friend, had returned to Bury Court, on the death of his father at Marston Moor, to comfort and console his widowed mother.

After remaining some three or four years at home, he went on his travels abroad, visiting France and Italy, and I know not how many other strange lands. In Holland, if my memory do not play me false, he had the rare happiness of being presented to His Most Gracious Majesty King Charles the Second, then, alas ! an exile from his throne and country. Now, in the year 1651 he was home again, as handsome and noble looking a gentleman as ever you would wish to see, and withal as courteous and amiable and sweet humoured as when I first made his acquaintance. Ay, and more than that; notwithstanding all the great folk he had come across and made acquaintance with, both at home and abroad, I found, to my joy, that he still thought kindly of his old schoolmate and school fellow, John Gilbert feeling no shame to count him among the number of his dearest friends.

Then came the summer of the year 165 1, bringing with it the tidings that His Majesty King Charles had invaded England with his army, and was preparing to march into London, in the assertion of his rights as lawful Sovereign of his realm. My father and Walter Harcourt both rode off to join the forces under his standard. " Nay, nay, dame," said my father, in reply to my mother's earnest entreaties that he would bide at home. " Nay, nay, 'twas sore against my conscience that I listened to thee when His Sacred Majesty King Charles the First was summoning all his loyal subjects to his aid. But I may not heed thee now, seeing that if the Lord will that I return no more, thou wilt have John, now a full-grown man, to take my place in house and farm and fold. He will be a good son to thee and a good brother to his sister Anne, that I well wot.

My substance is equally divided betwixt you, and as the good Lord hath been pleased to add His blessing to my endeavours, my death, whensoever that come about, will not leave you lacking of any reasonable comfort Wherefore, dry thy tears, dear wife, and pray that God send me back to you all safe and sound at the ending of a successful campaign for King and Country." He and Walter rode off together. But, alas, only one came back.

Chapter III

My fit st meeting with Phyllis Maybird. The village of Amberley standeth somewhat raised above the surrounding country, which towards the north, in the direction of Pulborough, is remarkably flat, so much so, indeed, that in a wet winter, it is not unlike a huge marsh in appearance. It was in the Marsh, towards the beginning of May, in the year 1653, two years after my father's death, that I met with an adventure, which although of perilous aspect, and out of which I came not entirely scatheless, was yet fraught with such abundance of future happiness to myself that I ever looked back to it with feelings of intensest joy, rather than pain. It was on this evening, then, of ever blessed memory, that I had gone down to these meadows below Amberley to inspect my stock, of which that summer I had purchased rather more largely than usual — the prospect of an abundance of grazing being amazingly good — and, rejoicing at their thriving appearance, was slowly sauntering home, not altogether unmindful of supper-time, at which in sooth I had never been a laggard.

The road by which I was returning was bordered by two high thick-set hedges, then covered with red and c white may-bloom. Some of this I proceeded to gather, bethinking me that my sister Anne had asked me to bring her a few sprays wherewith to deck the supper-table that evening. But I had hardly begun my task when I heard a shrill, piercing shriek, as of a woman in dire distress, proceeding from the direction of Amberley. I hastily cast my eyes that way, but the windings of the road effectually concealed from me the cause of this sudden disturbance to the calmness and peace of the summer evening. Presently another louder cry reached my ears. Then, throwing down my may-bloom, I rushed at full speed up the road, plainly divining that some female in peril needed my aid, and as soon as I reached the first bend in the road, I saw that this was indeed the case, for, some fifty yards ahead, a woman was struggling with two fierce looking men.

Firmly grasping my ash stick, the only weapon with which I happened to be provided, I sped to her rescue, almost reaching the scene of the encounter before being perceived by the two ruffians, one of whom was now holding the maiden firmly in his arms, the other being engaged in rifling her pocket. " How now, ye villains, what means this violence ?" I cried out, as I approached. Hastily releasing the damsel, they turned round on me, one of them, without more ado, aiming a furious blow at my head, with a huge staff which he had snatched up from the ground on seeing me. Happily warding off this attack with my stout ash, I returned his blow, and with such good effect that the scoundrel fell to the ground stunned, the blood from the wound in his head streaming over his face. The other lewd fellow, on seeing his comrade fall, snatched a pistol out of his doublet and discharged it at me almost point-blank, and then perceiving that I appeared unharmed, with all speed took to his heels.

Swiftly pursuing, I dealt him such a lusty blow on his right shoulder that he filled the air with his piteous groans. Thinking he had suffered enough then for his naughtiness, I permitted him to escape, and returned to where I had left the terrified maiden, inwardly re joicing that I had so easily freed her from her assailants. But I was filled with dread on seeing her stretched on the hard road, her face as blanched as the whitest may-blossom, and apparently bereft of life. At first I feared that the wounded robber had recovered suffi ciently to inflict some mortal hurt upon the hapless maid, but perceiving that he still lay unconscious, 1 surmised that her deathlike appearance was simply owing to a swoon into which she had fallen, through sheer lack of strength and excess of fear. Then in sooth I felt at a loss, for as yet I had had no experience of how to recover fainting maidens.