Alice Bridge of Norwich — page 32: what you’re looking at

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ALICH DRIDGE OF NORWICH. So this great battle commenced: Ireton’s boasting ended in grief, and George came to the command under great disadvantage. How- ever he hastened to put in practice the maneu- ver he had taught the troops, and they soon rallied to his call in large numbers, Cromwell meanwhile had borne down the left wing, and, holding his troops in hand, only pursued the foe a short distance; and he then, leaving a few companies to continue the pur- suit, wheeled round on the-center just as George brought up his restored line on’ the opposite flank of the King’s center, In his rapid advance George had to leap a wide ditch in the face of a hostile body ready to contest the opposite bank. ‘Will Barnard and one or two men went over before him, but Will’s horse fell short, and threw his rider on to the bank. One of the enemy, lance in hand, rode forward to make an end ‘of the poor fel- low, in whose features George recognized Ste- phen Wren. He had all but accomplished his cruel end, when George, diverting his horse across the ditch, and putting him to his full metal, alighted just between Wren and his vic- tim. The encounter was fierce, but ended in Wren’s retreat behind his covering party, though George cried out, “Halt, coward! here I stand to abide your challenge.” The advancing body under George’s com- mand now dashed at full speed on the flank of Sir Jacob Astley’s force, which they crumpled up into a disordered mass, George crossed swords with that general himself, who was vio- lently cursing and abusing the rebel Round- heads, but was himself presently reduced to ask for quarter. Cromwell had also broken up tough old Lind- say’s division, and pushed forward to meet George in the very center of the King’s line. “ Always to the front, George!—but where is Treton?” “T regret to say he is a prisoner,—early in ‘the action.” ‘Yes, I saw Rupert’s hot charge. I confess your plan was the best. Ireton is too like the Prince—fiery and rash.” “Yet you sided with him against Fairfax and your old friend this morning,” answered George. ' “Th: Lord ids overruled our counsel for good,” replied “Cromwell, nothing moved. ““We must rescue Ireton. You have well deserved to take his place. You area polished shaft in Jehovah’s hand, But ah! here comes Rupert and his overblown cavalry. They are delivered into our hand! George, let us unite ranks for a final and decisive rout, Ho!— advance—left wheel—march—charge! ‘God is our strength!’” King Charles himself had ridden up to the head cf the Royalist cavalry, saying with frantic gesticulation, ‘‘ Now, messieurs, one charge more and victory is ours!—‘God and Queen Marie!’” It was vain: the main body of the Royal army was crushed. Cromwell and George fought side by side, and nothing could with- stand the rapid dash of the Roundheads. Here it was that a gallant Parliamentary colonel, who lay mortally wounded, entreated those around him to open a way right and left, ‘‘ by which he might see the rogues run.” The King was obliged to fly with a small escort. Large numbers of ‘prisoners sur- tendered. The horse of Rupert fled at a gallop towards Leicester, pursued by Cromwell's troopers_to the gates of the town. Of the prisoners, a great many were officers and ladies of the Court in their carriages, who had been brought there to see an easy conquest. The King’s baggage was seized, with all his private papers, which were of the utmost con- sequence, and were afterwards published by the Parliament as affording damning evidence of Charles’s double dealing. The battle had closed,—the wide moor was strewn with the wounded and slain,—the officers on the winning side were receiving Prisoners to quarter, and taking the swords of officers, Human fiends, worse than vultures, prowled about stripping and robbing the help- Jess victims. A flock of wild Irish women, brought over with the King’s [rish recruits, took a ferocious part in these operations, and with their skenes, or knives a foot long, scrupled not to ease the sufferings of the wounded by mortal stabs. Cromwell and George again found themselves fora moment close together. ‘‘ Praise be to God, my friend!—this is none other than His hand, EE LEE A We have honestly served our country to-day. | There has been no drawing back the bow and | arrow from the prey. Surely, after venturing | our tives for our country we may hope for liberty of conscience to crown our efforts, Ah, George, it was this that we hoped for that day we helped the Swedes to conquest. It has come, and to God be all the honor,” George for some time moved from place to place with Will Barnard, and a few of his per: sonal attendants, occupied in the congenial and gracious task of accepting the surrender of group after group of prisoners, who saw them. selves so surrounded and broken as to be unable either to fight or fly. Hastily approaching one of these groups, George was confronted by a body of men rather at bay than seeking-peace, and somewhat stronger than his own following, He lifted the white flag as he had done in other cases, but they stood to arms. He soon recognized in one of the leaders his old foe and rival Stephen Wren, looking as if he had been drinkin hard before the battle. Wren was saying, ‘‘ Stand, firm, fellows,—we are stronger than these Roundhead dogs;—their leader is Cromwell’s great friend,—let us seize him, and cut our way through, and we shall win a Prince's ransom, or make an end of a villain.” A severe conflict ensued, in which George’s party soon showed their mora} superiority to the reckless Cavaliers, most of whom were soon stretched on the earth, while the rest cried for mercy. George and Wren were engaged in| personal combat, and the fury of the latter gradually gave way before the steady skill of the former, when, hearing an appeal for sur- render, George suspended his attack, and drew back a little. Wren affected to misunderstand this movement for a retreat, and shouting out, “‘Recreant, you shall not escape thus,—offer your last prayer!” he rushed on afresh, in such disorder as enabled his opponent at one blow to dash his sword from his hand, and then, seizing his collar, to swing him from his saddle upon the moor. Dismounting at once, George received his surrender, and was in the act of remounting, when the faithless wretch drew a concealed pistol, and fired it off close to George’s back, shouting, as he saw him reel and fall to the ground, ‘‘ Take that, rebel and foo! !|—now Alice shall never be yours!’ Wren instantly mounted George’s horse, and galloped madly away,—fol- lowed, however, closely by Will Barnard and his men, eager to avenge their Colonel. For a few minutes George lay half insensible, Presently his senses awoke, and he knew his po- sition. His wound was in the shoulder,—pain- ful, but not, he thought, dangerous. He faintly called for Will. His heart was lifted towards the Divine Lord and Saviour he had long served, and to whom he committed himself for life or death. Then his love for Alice revived in over- powering tenderness, and memory ran rapidly over his entire course of life, He was rousing himself to try to stanch the flowing blood, which was beginning to coagulate and run less freely, when he heard rough female voices in a strange language, and felt his outer cloak being pulled from his shoulders. He turned a little, and saw cowering over him a creature hardly like a woman. Her shaggy black locks hung like a curtain over most of her swarthy face, only showing eyes of glittering coldness like those of a maniac. He could also clearly see the flash | J of some steel knife or dagger in her hand, ready to be plunged in his heart. He remained still as death while hands were searching his pock- ets, pulling off such jewels as he wore, and tear- ing off parts of his dress. Now and then he caught that keen icy stare surveying his feat- ures, and he thought he saw the creature lift the knife, but she struck no blow. Ages seemed to him to have passed in this horrible position, and he began from exhaus- tion to fall into fresh faintness, when a sudden sound of approaching horsemen revived him, and seemed to disturb the hags who were plun- dering him. They stirred and rose;—the gallop came nearer;—again he heard the uncouth voices muttering,—then he saw the hand Jifted ; —he closed his eyes, and yielded up his life;— he felt a sharp pain in his side, and all was over! Yes, it was Will returning, who had been away but a few minutes,—just enough to over- take the cowardly assassin, and to complete his punishment; but also just enough to leave his beloved master to the disaster. The wretched some new scene of rifling and murder of the defenseless and brave. Will was self-reproached indeed when he saw his master’s state. ‘‘ Alas, alas!—it was but a minute!—I have prevented the cailiff from boasting—I could not suffer him to escape; yet I should have staid by my master after saving my life this day. What will Mistress Alice and my Annsay? Here is the wound,—warm blood flows,—how near the heart! Here too is an- other wound by the shoulder—that was front the pistol. What is this second wound? I think he still lives—surely he does!” Then he rallied the attendants, They bound up the wounds, and made a litter, and bore the uncon- scious burden to head-quarters, where the sur- geon reported him dangerously wounded, but likely to survive for some time. As the Colonel moaned perpetually, he was heard to say, ‘‘Take me home!—Norwich— Alice—father!” Cromwell, when he saw him, bent over and kissed him, and said, ‘George, thou shalt go home. The Lord keep thee in perfect peace til} thou go home forever.” Then he ordered one of the royal carriages, taken that day, to be made ready, and George was laid comfortably in it. Herbert Hervey returned to the scene of unexpected distress just in time to bear his wounded friend home, es- corted by his own troop of Norwich lads. They turned from the field of Naseby’s victory in mournful procession, and took the road for Norwich. A great army of commanders and officers witnessed the departure of the sad corté e, and Cromwell said aloud, ‘‘ There goes Colonel Sherwood, one of the noblest and bravest of our leaders, My soul is distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan! Thou art stricken down in the victory thou didst mainly help to win. Thou hast lived to beat down the oppressor. Thou art taken from the troubles which must follow. Peace to thee!” CHAPTER XLII. BETWEEN HOME AND HBAVEN. “ But love is indestructible; Its holy flame forever burneth; From heaven came—to Heaven returneth. Itghere is tried and purified, And hath in Heaven its perfect rest; It soweth here with toil and care, But the reaping-time of love is there.”” Sourury, Tuk proverb declares that Il] news flies fast;” but on this occasion the news of the vic- tory of Naseby reuched Norwich by a dispatch from George at a time when his safety seemed assured. The relief and delight thus caused was indescribable, Alice, who had divided her time between nursing George’s father and fears and prayers for the result of the battle, now yielded to the joy of thanksgiving, which was like a cordial also to her patient, with his fa- therly love and care. The most outspoken re» joicer was Ann, who in bysteric happiness said, ‘Now these horrid fightings are over, won’t we give the conquerors a welcome! They shan’t leave us again in a hurry. Bless me, I never could bear widow's weeds. We will have feasts and shows. Ob, my Will! if you had never come back, I should have soon followed you!” And then they all sobbed with excess of oy. Alice rebuked this wild outburst, saying, ‘Ann, you behave likea heathen! Did we not give them up to God’s service? This is all ac- cording to my dream, but yet I tremble. He has answered our prayers, and spared them for a great victory; but if He had not—His holy will be done—though that had been worse than death to me.” " ‘Truly, mistress, you speak like a book! I didn’t mean anything wrong; but joy is upper- most just now, and I can’t hold it in,” A few days afterwards they were preparing to celebrate their rejoicing by a great day of public thanksgiving. No further news had reached them from the army, except confir- mations of the great triumph. The Cathedral of Norwich was crowded in the morning by all classes to hear the Rev. W. Bridge, who was chosen to preach. He now had become the virtual Bishop of the place, through his sufferings for the good cause and his heroic fidelity. There were present a vast body of new clergy, the civic authorities, the profes- sional men and traders, and many of the poor, specially from Tombland and Pocthorpe. As women flitted away, as he appeared, to seek yet, none of the army had returned, but there ALICE BRIDGE OF NORWICH. were large triumphal arches erected to their honor, with the blazoned names of Edge Hill, Newbury, Marston Moor, and Naseby, to com- memorate their gallant deeds, The names of Cromwell, Fairfax, Ireton, and of Colonel Sherwood, floated on Many banners. All was hushed in the great Saxon pile. After a serv- ice of a mixed sort, in which Edward Sher. wood read an abbeviation of the Liturgy, the Rev. J. Allen offered free prayer, then various hymns and psalms were sung, ana the preach- er rose to speak. His theme was character- istic—the theme of early studies and of life’s experience—Fatth. This he exemplified by St. Paul's language (Acts xxvii, 25) amid the peril of shipwreck: ‘Sirs, I believe God, that it shall be even as it was told me.” He painted the faith required in the dark days which England has passed through; the promises many had relied on, and their fulfillment that day. . As he proceeded to set forth that had it pleased God to lengthen their sorrow and delay His deliverance,—to send them defeat instead of victory, and to permit their friends to lay down their lives like the hol martyrs, and like Zwingle recently on the field of Cappel—(bere sobs interrupted his words),—still he trusted we should have said no less firmly, ‘ Sirs, I be- lieve God,”—“ though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him,” there was a deep general hum of earnest acquiescence. ‘‘ But, bless the Lord, it is not so: we are delivered, and they are safe. It is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes,” As the people left the vast building, a lively martial band struck up, and forming into a pro- cession of the various guilds and associations of the town, with the Mayor in their midst, they paraded with streamers,- banners, and wild shouts, the chief part of the city. They then separated to hold a festival in each parish on some green or open place. The most interest- ing of these meetings that day was held on Tombland. Dr. Hope spoke to the chief toast of ‘‘ Their victorious army, with Cromwell, and Sherwood, and its gallant leaders.” Edward returned thanks for his brother in the hove that peace would now be made, and the legitimate rule be restored. He trusted his brother would soon return with such peaceful news as to re- ceive their heartiest welcome. Here followed the most united cheers, and shouts of “ Bravo, Colonel Sherwood!”—" his father, the Alder. man!’—which rose to a tornado when some one suggested ‘‘and his bride.” ‘‘ Hurrah! Hurrah! —fair Alice, his bride!” ““The good Rector was returning home, when he was staid by one of the rough Pocthorpe fellows, who begged to speak to hima moment, On getting out of the crowd, the fellow said, respectfully and sadly, ‘‘T fear I bring bad news; but ycu believe God, sir, don’t you?” “Surely, my man,—what is it?—Any one ill in Pocthorpe who would see me? T am ready.” “Nearer home, sir. My son has just come from the army: he brings ill-tidings.” ‘“ What, has there been another battle, and a defeat?” “No, -no! the victory is all safe; but—oh, sir, ’'m loth to say it—they are bringing home a@ wounded man.” “Ah, my poor fellow—your other son!—let us go to him.” ‘Nearer home, sirl—one whose fall will dim the eyes of all this city, and cast a blank shade on your own home.” : “What! can it be—not Colonel ‘George? We heard from him that he was safe,”’ “ Aye, sir, it is, though! How it happened, I cannot tell; but he is sore wounded, though alive. But, sir, you believe God even in the shipwreck?” “T do. This is a shipwreck, indeed! The Lord be merciful—His will be done! Thank you for your great kindness and care. I must go home.” The stunned clergyman hastened toward home. Alice, he-was aware, was at her post, nursing Alderman Sherwood. He knew not how soon the returning party might appear with their sad burden. He was obliged as hastily as possible to apprise her mother, who, with woman’s prevision, seemed singularly prepared, and exclaimed, “My child!—she must not be alone and unready! God help us!” At once she hurried after her daughter,—not a moment too soon, for as she crossed Tomb- land she saw a crowd moving that way down the road from the Castle. Entering the house, she made her way to the sick-chamber, and drew Alice aside, who asked, ‘‘ What is it, mother? You are pale and sad—you have some | bad news?” ‘Yes, dearest we shall all need courage; and you—oh, my darling!” Then Alice trembled for a moment, and looked up to heaven. ““Tell me, mother, at once. I had a dream about dear George, which Iknow will be fulfilled. dead? Now, tell me.” Is he wounded, or And she gazed on her mother as if life was in her words. : ‘‘My child, he is wounded, and coming home. directly.” Indeed, he will be brought here almost ‘God be thanked, mother! then he is not—— I shall see him, and I can nurse him. But I will go and speak to his father. Hark! surely there is some stir in the street,—I will go.” At that moment, as Alice departed, Ann broke into the room, and, throwing herself into a chair, wept hysterically. ‘*Forgive me, ma’am,—they are bringing him home! Will says he is but just alive—a dying man, Oh, oh, ol!—dear Master George that I loved from a boy! And 1 am to make ready his bed and his winding-sheet!” ““Come, Ann,” said Madam Bridge, ‘I will go with you and get all ready. time to lose. We may help to save him. There is no While there is life there is hope.” “ But Mistress Alice will die for him, madam, and she knows no more about it than the babe unborn.” ““Yes, she does, Ann,—and she will be the first to nurse dear child.” him. We must all support her, Thus, by the time the mournful procession entered the house, all was ready. Alice was the first to meet them, pale but firm. It was she who ushered the men bearing that covered “carry” to the room up-stairs, where her mother and Ann received them. The uncon- scious soldier was then, by the aid of his friend Herbert and the men, gently lifted into his own bed, quite exhausted by his journey. Dr. Hope appeared at that moment, and at once ordered a strong cordial to be administered, Alice grist, fetched it, though inexpressibly shocke by his deadly paleness and want of ail apparent animation. She was encouraged, how- ever, greatly, as she moistened the dry lips, to find that they moved to sip the nourishment. _Presently even a spoonful was swallowed, and by degrees more, while the breathing was regu- lar, though the eyes were closed. After awhile the Doctor very gently examined the wounds, and carefully cleansed and dressed them afresh, which seemed to afford the patient still greater comfort, By degrees he settled into a restful sleep, and there was nothing more to do but to watch for his waking, Alice would not leave the room, but said to the Doctor as he left, ‘ You need not tell me,— I fear man can do little for him.” The Doctor very earnestly replied, ‘To God all things are possible;—we will do our best.” In the next room, the Doctor interrogated Herbert on the mournful event, The young man for the first time broke down, and said, with sobs, ‘‘Oh that I had been there! but I was away on duty, and only returned to find him stretched out almost a corpse. Wren had always threatened, The wretch George was too 63