The morning of Sunday, the 21st of October, broke dull and cold; the grey clouds swept hurriedly over the sky, like charging squadrons, and the wind whistled through the branches of a solitary clump of old beeches, which marked the highest point of the sharp rise called Edgehill. From the brow might be seen a wide open slope, extending down nearly to the little town of Keinton, or Kineton, with some flat meadows at the bottom, having a number of hedges and enclosures on the left as one looked from the hill. On the other side all was at that time open, and the fair undulations of Warwickshire might be seen beyond, the brown woods clothed in a light mist. It was a peaceful and pleasant scene in the grey morning, notwithstanding the coldness and dulness of the day; and very soon after dawn the pale blue smoke began to rise from the early chimneys of the little town, rising slow till it was caught by the wind from the hill, and then hurrying away with a few light rolls and losing itself in air.

Shortly after, a drum was heard to beat below, and then came the blast of a trumpet, and soon troops might be descried forming slowly and quietly in the plain, as if about to commence a safe and easy march. Horse and foot took their places in long line, and here and there officers and camp-followers were seen walking carelessly about, while at the other spots some more rigid disciplinarians might be observed putting their men into better order, and galloping hither and thither in all the bustle of command.

Suddenly, however, some confusion was observed in one part of the plain, where a group of gentlemen on horseback had been visible for some time; and two persons detached themselves from the rest, and rode up at full speed towards the brow of the hill, towards which all eyes were now turned. What saw they there which caused such apparent surprise? It was a small party of horse, not more than twenty in number, which had just moved up from the other side, and now halted, gazing into the valley. There were scarfs, and plumes, and glittering arms amongst them, betokening no peaceful occupation; and after a moment's pause, a trumpeter mounted on a grey horse put his instrument to his lips, and blew a long, loud blast. The next moment fresh heads appeared above the hedge, and troop after troop rode forward, and in fair array took up a position at the summit.

All was changed on the plain below in a moment; activity and temporary confusion succeeded the quiet regularity which before had been observable. The two horsemen who had been detached to the group in front were hurriedly recalled; musketeers were seen filing off to the left; the cavalry was collected on the wings; the foot began to form line in the centre; and the party which had remained a little in advance were discovered moving slowly along quite across the valley, while from time to time a horseman dashed away from it, and seemed to convey orders to this or that regiment in different parts of the field.

Essex was now first aware of the presence of an enemy, and easily divined that he could march no farther without fighting; but it is more with those above that we have to do. Soon after the small body of Cavaliers on the hill had been discovered by the Roundhead army, up came at headlong speed, followed by some eight or ten gentlemen who could pace with him, a fiery-looking youth, with his beaver up and his eye lightening with eager impetuosity. He seemed barely one-and-twenty years of age; but there was on his brow the look of habitual command; and in the quick roll of his eye over the parliamentary army, the sudden pause it made here and there, and then its rapid turn towards another point, one might see how closely he scanned the forces of the enemy--how keenly he observed all that seemed worthy of attention.

"They see us, your highness," said one of the gentlemen who had arrived before him. "They were actually commencing their march when we appeared."

"They would not have marched far, my lord," replied Prince Rupert; "but 'tis as well as it is. There are more of them than I thought, but we must make valour supply numbers. I heard that they had left two regiments behind at Stratford."

"There are, sir, two of infantry and one of cavalry," replied Lord Walton; "but that seems to me the best of all reasons for giving battle as soon as possible."

The very best, answered the prince, with a smile. "Victory is more needful to us than food, and of that we have had no great plenty. But, by my life, there is not a regiment of foot within sight! The foot are sad encumbrances. Would that these times were like the days of old, when every gentleman fought on horseback! We are fallen upon vulgar days."

"I see the head of a regiment amongst those distant hedges," said the Earl of Beverley; "but our quarters were very much scattered last night."

"And some noble persons had fair young wives to visit, my good lord," replied the prince, bowing his head, with a smile.

"True," rejoined the earl; "but yet your highness sees they are not the last in the field; as how should they be, when they have such treasures to defend--such eyes for witnesses?"

The reply suited the prince well; and after some more gay conversation he dismounted from his horse, and seated himself under one of the beech-trees, watching attentively every movement of the enemy, and from time to time pointing out to those around him the measures taken by Lord Essex for defence.

"See!" he said; "he is filling those hedges with musketeers. Aston and his dragoons must clear them. I will not break my teeth upon such stones. He is forming a powerful reserve there, I suppose, under Ramsay or the Earl of Bedford, and he has got all his foot in the centre. Who is that on their left, I wonder? Well, I shall soon know, for I trust it will not be long before I see him closer. Would to heaven these tardy foot would come! We are giving him full time for every arrangement he could desire and you may be sure he will not stir from amongst those hedges till we dislodge him."

But the impatient prince had long to wait, for ten o'clock was near at hand ere the first regiment of royal artillery was on the ground. From that time, indeed, every quarter of an hour brought up some fresh body; but even then the men had marched far and needed some refreshment. All that could be given them was a brief space of repose and some cold water, for provisions were not to be obtained. The soldiery, however, were full of ardour, and many a gay jest and gibe passed amongst those who were never destined to quit that plain.

Amongst other events that have been noticed by historians is the fact that the king's guard, composed entirely of gentlemen volunteers, having heard as they followed the monarch some slight scoffs at their peculiar post near his person, besought him to dispense with their close attendance that day, and obtained permission to charge with the cavalry of Prince Rupert on the right. On the left a smaller body of horse, commanded by Commissary-General Wilmot, and a regiment of dragoons under Sir Arthur Aston, had the task of assailing the right of the parliamentary army, protected as it was by enclosures lined with musketeers; and to this service the small corps of the Earl of Beverley was also assigned. Lord Walton fought upon the right under the prince; and but one regiment of cavalry, led by Sir John Byron, was kept back as a reserve.

One o'clock had passed, when at length, after a short consultation with the Earl of Lindsay, the king commanded his forces to march slowly down the hill towards Kineton. The distance was considerable; and before the ground was reached on which it was thought advisable to begin the battle, the day had so far advanced that some old and experienced officers suggested a delay till the following morning. But sufficient arguments were not wanting to show that Essex must gain and his sovereign lose by such a course. The troops, too, were eager to engage; and a very general belief prevailed that few of the parliamentary regiments would really be brought to fight against their king. In the confusion of all accounts, it is hardly to be discovered how the battle really commenced; but certain it is that Prince Rupert burst into fury at the very thought of delay, and that his force of cavalry first commenced the fight by charging the left of the enemy. As he was waiting to give the word, with all his blood on fire at the thought of the approaching strife, he remarked Lord Walton twice turn round and gaze towards the hill in the rear, and he asked, in a sharp tone. "What look you for, my lord? Soldiers ever should look forward."

Charles Walton's brow became as dark as night, and it cost him a moment's thought ere he could reply with calmness--

"I looked, sir, for one I thought I saw upon the hill as we moved down; and as to the rest, Rupert of Bavaria has never been more forward on the field, nor ever will be, than Charles Walton. But there is other matter to attend to now. See you that regiment of horse advancing to the charge?"

The prince looked round, and beheld a considerable body of the enemy coming on at a quick pace, pistol in hand. He raised his sword above his head, about to speak the word; but at that moment the opposite party discharged their shot into the ground, and galloping on wheeled their horses into line with the Cavaliers. A buzz ran through the ranks of "Fortescue! Fortescue!" "He was forced to join the Roundheads;" "Many more are in the like case;" and at the same moment the cry of "Charge!" was heard; and, hurled like a thunderbolt against the mass of the enemy's cavalry on the left, with the prince at their head, the gallant force of Cavaliers rushed on. A fire, innocuous from the terror and confusion with which it was directed, was opened upon their advancing line; but ere swords crossed, the parliamentary cavalry of the left wing, with the exception of one small body, turned the rein and fled. The Cavaliers thundered on the flank and rear; men and horses rolled over together, and foremost in the fight, wherever a show of resistance was made, was the bridegroom of a day.

"Lightning and devils!" cried Captain Barecolt, who followed hard upon his steps. "See what love will make a man do! He has distanced the prince by six horse-lengths, and he will have that standard in a minute. Come, my lord, let a man have his share."

On, on they rushed, pursuers and pursued, along the plain, over the hill; down went steel jack, and buff coat, and iron morion. Some turned at last to strike one stroke for life, but still the fiery spurs of Rupert and of Walton were behind them, and Edgehill field was far away when the prince himself cried--

"Halt! Sound to the standard! Stay, Walton, stay you have outstripped me indeed."

Lord Walton drew his rein, but he raised not his visor,^[1] for he felt that he was pale.

"Methinks we are too far from the field, your highness," he replied. "I will ride back with speed, for my men have followed close behind me, while you rally the rest and bring them up. I fear some mischance, for the king is without guards."

"Go, go!" said the prince, instantly perceiving the error that had been committed; "I will come after with all speed. Sound trumpet! Sound trumpet! Sound to the standard!"

"Call them back, Barecolt, and follow!" exclaimed Lord Walton. "Old Randal is as mad as any of us. Bring him back quick. I fear we have spoiled the best day's deeds England has seen for long;" and gathering together what men he could, he spurred headlong back towards the field. Captain Barecolt followed on his steps, and he thought he saw the young lord waver somewhat in the saddle; a stream of blood, too, was trickling down his scarf from his right shoulder, and spurring on his horse to Charles Walton's side, he said, "You are wounded, sir; you are badly wounded! Let me lead you to----"

But at that moment the field of battle came again before their eyes, and Lord Walton exclaimed--

"Is this a time to talk of wounds? Look there!"

The aspect of the scene had indeed greatly changed from what it had been some half-an-hour before, when Wilmot and Aston on the left, and Rupert on the right, were driving the Roundhead cavalry before them. Firm in his position stood the Earl of Essex with his foot. His reserve of horse had come down and were charging the royal infantry. The right wing, the left, and the reserve of Charles's horse were far away, pursuing the flying foe; and the monarch himself with his two sons, only guarded by a small force of mounted Cavaliers, who had been too wise and loyal to follow the rash example set them by the prince appeared nearly surrounded by the parliamentary cavalry under Sir William Balfour.

As Lord Walton reappeared upon the field, the royal standard wavered and fell, and in the midst of the fierce fire that rolled along the front of the enemy's line, he charged upon the flank of Balfour's horse to rescue his sovereign from the peril he was in. As they galloped up, however, the standard rose again, and Essex's reserve began slowly to retire upon the infantry; but still the young nobleman urged on his little troop upon the retreating force; some fifty gentlemen detached themselves from the small body that surrounded the monarch, and charging in front, and cutting their way clear through, Charles Walton and Francis of Beverley met in the midst of the mÊlÉe.

"How goes it, Charles?" said the earl, with a glad voice. "If the prince would but return we would have a glorious victory!"

"He is coming quickly," replied Lord Walton. "Rally your force with mine, Beverley, for one more charge;" and in another minute they were again in the midst of the retreating rebels.

At the same moments in sad confusion and disarray, came back Prince Rupert's Cavaliers. Discipline, and order were lost amongst them. Officers were without men, and men without officers. Some few joined the troops of Lord Beverley and Lord Walton.

But night was falling. Sir William Balfour led his horse in between the regiments of infantry steadily and skilfully, then turned to face the enemy; and the earl, finding that nothing could be effected without a larger force, retreated and galloped up to Prince Rupert, who now stood near the king, to urge one decisive charge upon the centre of the parliamentary line. The prince received him coldly, however--perhaps from a consciousness that he himself had done amiss; and some one suggested that the king should leave the field, pointing out how firmly Lord Essex kept his ground.

"For shame! for shame!" cried the earl. "The victory might still be ours, but certainly it is not his; and as long as his majesty remains, it cannot be so. The greater part of our foot is unbroken; our horse is victorious; and, whoever quits the field, I will remain upon it, dead or alive."

"And I too, most certainly, my lord," said Charles. "I will never do so unkingly an act as to forsake them who have forsaken all to serve me. There is no look of victory on my Lord of Essex's side. We keep the field. Let them advance to attack us if they dare. Take measures to withdraw those cannon from that little mound; restore what order may be, for night is falling fast; and set a sure guard, that we be not surprised."

For some time the discharge of musketry, which was still going on, continued upon both sides; but gradually, as the darkness increased, it slackened, revived, slackened again, fell into dropping shots, and then fires began to appear along the line of either army, while all the confusion and disarray which ever succeeds a drawn battle, where the combatants are only parted by the night, took place on either part. Hours were spent in giving some sort of order to the royalist forces; officers sought their men, soldiers looked for their officers, rumours of every kind were spread, and many accidents and misadventures happened, which cannot here be told.

But there was one sad subject of thought that occupied many a mind--"Who had fallen? Who remained wounded on the field?" It was impossible to discover; for the confusion was so great that no one knew where the other was to be found. Lord Beverley, however, had seen Charles Walton almost to the latest moment of the strife, and in sending off a messenger to Newington, to inform his fair bride of his own safety, he ventured to add that her brother also had escaped the slaughter of the day. About midnight, however, as he was lying by a fire, he heard a step approach, and looking up he saw Barecolt beside him.

The soldier's eyes gazed round the group, which lay in the glare, and before the earl could speak he said--

"So he is not here?"

"Do you mean Lord Walton?" asked the earl.

"Ay, to be sure, my lord," replied Barecolt. "I have been seeking you these two hours, and now we had better go and seek him, for depend upon it he is on the field. He was badly wounded with a shot in the side in that first charge, and he got another in the last; but perhaps he is not dead yet. The night is cold, and that staunches blood."

"We have no lights," said the earl, a cold foreboding coming over his heart. "Stay--the moon will be up in half-an-hour. Where saw you him last?"

"Within half musket-shot of the second regiment on the right," answered Barecolt: "we had better wait, too, till the moon rises. She will give some light, if she do not even chase the clouds; and yet I would fain go soon, for I have strange doubts."

"Of what?" asked the earl.

"Nay, I do not well know," replied the soldier; "but I know one thing--that sweet lady of his was not so far from the field as he wished and others thought. Just as we were moving down, I saw her or her ghost, and a countryman with his hand upon her horse's bridle, as if leading him over the rough ground on the left. Her lord saw her, too, or I am mistaken, for he more than once turned to look, and there were words between him and the prince about it."

The earl put his hand to his brow, in that sort of painful dread which, without taking any definite form, hangs like a dark cloud over the whole range of destiny.

"You saw her near the field?" he said; "you saw her here? When was this?"

"Why, I told you, my good lord--just as we were moving down, about one of the clock," answered Captain Barecolt; "but there is a little cottage, where a shepherd lives, up along the edge of the hill. Perhaps she has taken refuge there; or, it may be, she has gone back."

"God grant it!" said the earl; "I will send up to the cottage to see if she be there."

Barecolt, however, undertook the task himself, saying that in such a piercing night the walk would warm him. But he found the cottage deserted, and though there was sufficient light to guide him back to the spot where the Earl of Beverley lay, the moon did not show herself all night, the darkness remained as profound as ever, neither lantern nor torch could be procured, and it was perfectly hopeless to attempt a search under such circumstances. Weary hour by hour passed away beside the fire, till it died away for want of fuel; but still, notwithstanding all the fatigue that they had endured, Lord Beverley and his companion sat wakeful till the dawn of morning, and during their conversation Barecolt showed a depth of feeling and an interest in the fate of Charles Walton and Arrah Neil which raised him much in the opinion of the earl. As soon as the first grey streaks announced the coming day, Lord Beverley was on horseback with his troop; but there before him stood the parliamentary army, reinforced, rather than diminished, since the night before. It was impossible to approach the part of the field where Lord Walton had last been seen except with a large force; but four pieces of the enemy's artillery were seen, considerably in advance of their line in that direction; and at the suggestion of Barecolt the earl asked and obtained leave to make a charge with his own troop and that of Major Randal, to endeavour to capture some of the cannon. This, as is well known, was effected early in the morning, without much loss or opposition; but the chief object of the earl, the discovering of his friend's body, could not be accomplished.

The rest of the events of that day are familiar to every one. The greater part of the morning was spent in consultations on the royalist part, and in fruitless endeavours to induce the officers to make one great effort against the enemy, till, towards evening, both armies began to retire, the first movement of retreat being made by the parliament forces, which were followed for a considerable distance by the royalist cavalry.

For ten miles the Earl of Beverley joined in the pursuit, but then obtained leave to return to the field, and his sad search began.

It was long protracted, and night was again beginning to fall when a low fierce growl, as he walked along one of the hedges on the right, called his attention to a pit which had been dug at the foot of a small oak tree. A little path ran down amongst some bushes, and hurrying along it, with Barecolt and several of his men, he reached the bottom.

There they found two or three wounded soldiers, who had dragged themselves thither to die; but in the midst was the saddest sight of all. Prone upon the ground, with the head uncovered, lay the body of Charles Walton; but that head was pillowed on the arm of poor Arrah Neil. Her lips seemed to have been pressed upon his, for her fair face had fallen forward upon his neck, and her bosom rested on his steel cuirass, while her left arm hung over him, the hand half clasping his right. Beside them, gazing down upon the poor girl, with drooping ears and tail, stood the gaunt stag-hound, and the faithful beast turned fiercely upon the first man who approached. He recognised the earl, however, and took a step or two forward towards him with a faint howl, and then returned and gazed again on her with whom he had sported in her childhood.

Lord Beverley knelt down and gently took her hand: it was cold as ice; but there was a keen frost, and he touched her cheek, removing the rich ringlets of her hair, which had fallen over her face. There was some warmth left; and raising her in his arms he directed her to be carried into the little town of Kineton, now in possession of the royalist cavalry, with the body of her husband.

But Arrah never spoke again. It was evident that she had come in time to receive the last breath of him she loved, for the fingers of Lord Walton's left hand were found tightly closed upon her garments; but how she had found him, or when, could not be discovered. All that was ever learned was, that one of the ploughmen of the farm at Newington had guided her to Edgehill, and that from the summit she had witnessed the battle below; but at night, as she would not return, the man had left her, and all the rest was darkness. Every effort was made to recal her to herself, but all was in vain; and in about two hours after she had been removed to Kineton, the last feeble spark of life that was left went out; and she was buried in the same grave with her husband, in less than a week from her marriage-day.

Such was the fate of one of the fairest and the gentlest of human beings. It would be a sad fact, that virtue and good conduct, that the highest qualities of the mind and the heart, cannot always command success or ensure happiness but that we have the grand assurance, both in God's Word and in God's goodness, that there is a place where there is compensation and reward. That the very brightest and the very best of human efforts often do not obtain their recompense here, has been admitted by the most sceptical of philosophers as a strong evidence of a future state. Our hopes and expectations are founded on a higher and better basis, and we are permitted to see, even in the sorrows of the good, the trial of that faith which is the assurance of immortality.

We might well close our history here, and close it in sadness; but, as there are almost always some mitigating circumstances in the course of disastrous events, we may be allowed to take off a little from the tragic character of the conclusion of this tale by speaking of the after history of other persons who have figured in the scene; and the reader is always anxious more or less to hear the ultimate fate of those in whom he has taken an interest.

To speak of the more important personages, then:--In the first place, it may well be supposed that the Earl of Beverley mourned sincerely for his friend, and his grief was somewhat aggravated by the powers of imagination; for the fact that his persuasions had been the immediate cause of Lord Walton joining the royal standard connected itself closely with the dream which he had had in prison, and brought a shadow over him whenever the events of the day gave him time for thought. He himself went safely through all the scenes of the civil war, remaining uninjured, except from a slight wound which he received at Long Marston Moor. His fair lady followed him as closely as was possible throughout the whole of those eventful times, and she was as happy as unchanging love and affection could make her amidst the disasters of her country and the overthrow of the royal house to which she was attached. The fall of her brother and the death of his gentle bride affected Annie Walton deeply, and it was long ere she regained the original cheerfulness of her character; but that cheerfulness depended as much upon principle as upon mood, and instead of encouraging grief, she made every effort to regain her serenity.

After the total ruin of the Cavalier party, the earl and his wife retired to France, and continued to live there in almost total seclusion till the restoration of the house of Stuart brought them back to their native land, where, though they met with the neglect which, in those days, as it is in all, was too frequently the reward of good services, they bore it with perfect indifference, happy in mutual affection, and requiring nothing else to complete their felicity.

A short time before they quitted England, Lady Margaret Langley had left the troublous scene in which they were still moving, for the repose of that quiet mansion which she had long looked to only as a place of rest. But there is still one personage of whose after history we must say a few words. Captain Deciduous Barecolt continued to serve the king as long as any services could be available, and in no point or particular did he derogate from his high-established character. He fought as well, he drank as deeply, he lied as vigorously as we have seen him do in the past narrative; and, though in the succeeding wars he got into a thousand scrapes, in which it required all the genius of a Barecolt to extricate his neck from the halter or his throat from the knife, he contrived, with marvellous ingenuity, to find his way out of circumstances which would have overwhelmed any common man. Nor was he absent from Worcester field; on the contrary, some have asserted that he was taken prisoner on that occasion, and contrived to deceive the keenness of Cromwell himself. Certain it is, that after the restoration of Charles II. Barecolt returned to England, presented himself at Bishop's Merton, put in a claim to the property of Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, as the direct heir of old Nicholas Cobalter, and having proved that the will under which Mrs. Cobalter had possessed his uncle's property was a forgery, he established such a debt against the estate of Mr. Dry as speedily rendered him the master of Longsoaken. There he continued to reside with an elderly man named Falgate, who played the character, partly of dependant, partly of attached friend, till he had well-nigh reached the age of eighty years, when, with a form somewhat bowed, a face somewhat white, and a nose which had gradually turned from red to blue, Colonel Barecolt, of Longsoaken, sank quietly into the grave, his last words being, "The pottle-pot's empty, Diggory."

FOOTNOTES

Footnote 1: We do not always remember that in the reign of Charles I. the cavalry were in general defended by casques with moveable visors. The dragoons, indeed, had usually an open helmet.

THE END.

WOODFALL AND KINDER, PRINTERS, LONG ACRE, LONDON.