Racton, Colonel Gunter’s residence, it has already been mentioned, was about four miles to the north-west of Chichester, and though a house of no great size or pretension, was very pleasantly situated at a short distance from Stanstead Park, then belonging to Lord Lumley. This park, with the stately mansion in the midst of it, now lay before our friends; they did not, however, enter it, but skirting the moss-grown palings by which it was surrounded, shaped their course towards the forest, which lay further to the west. As the sun had not yet appeared to enliven nature with his kindling beams, and dispel the mists of night, which still hung heavy over the woods and the landscape, the atmosphere felt excessively cold, causing the two gentlemen to draw their ample cloaks somewhat more tightly round them. It was now, it must be borne in mind, the middle of October, and the foliage was dyed with the glowing tints bestowed by the later days of autumn. Heavy dews hung on the leaves, and the ferns, briars, and gorse growing on the roadside were plentifully charged with moisture.
The horses snorted frequently and loudly as their riders walked them along, and the breath from the animal’s nostrils arose like steam. The rabbits on the sandy banks scudded off to their holes on the approach of the horsemen. The pheasant ran along the ground, thickly strewn with brown leaves, and gained the shelter of the copse. The blackbird started from the holly-bush, and the cries of the jay, the mellow notes of the wood-pigeon, and the chatter of the magpie resounded from the thicket. Ere long the two Cavaliers gained the forest, which was of considerable extent, and boasted some noble timber, being especially rich, like most large woods in this part of Sussex, in beech-trees. Passing a grove of these magnificent trees, crowning a sandy eminence from which their mighty roots protruded, our friends began to descend a long sweeping glade, broken here and there by scattered trees—ancient oaks with gnarled trunks and giant arms, towering elms, or venerable thorns. In a ferny brake on the right was couched a herd of deer, and as the two horsemen neared them, these graceful denizens of the forest started up from their bed, and tripped across the glade. A little further on, the deep secluded character of the forest in some measure disappeared, though the scene lost nothing of its picturesqueness and sylvan beauty.
By this time the sun had begun to o’er-top the trees on the east, and to light up the groves on the western side of the glade, chequering the open sward with shadows, though the opposite side was still buried in gloom. Riding quickly on, the two Cavaliers speedily reached the central avenue in the forest—a wide alley two miles in length, and skirted by noble trees—and they had no sooner entered it than they descried a little cavalcade advancing from the opposite direction, though still about a mile off.
“Yonder comes the king!” exclaimed Colonel Gunter. “We are not a minute too soon, after all. Forward! my young friend—forward!” And as he spoke he urged on his steed, while Clavering likewise quickened his pace.
The cavalcade descried by our friends consisted of four persons, all well mounted, and all plainly attired in sad-coloured garments—long black cloaks, square-toed boots drawn above the knee, and hats with tall conical crowns and broad penthouse brims. They might have been taken for demure and fanatical Republicans. The two gentlemen in advance were Colonel Robert Philips, of Montacute House, in Somersetshire, a devoted Royalist, and Captain Thomas Gunter, our worthy colonel’s kinsman. Of the pair who came behind, he who rode on the left was Lord Wilmot; but it is the individual on the right who claims our chief attention.
Tall of stature, and, so far as could be judged in his unbecoming attire, strongly and well proportioned, this personage possessed features which could scarcely be termed handsome. And yet, though the countenance might be somewhat harsh, the eyes were so large, quick, and expressive, so full of fire and intelligence, of malice and, it might be, merriment, that it was difficult to say that he was ill-looking. The owner of that remarkable physiognomy used himself to describe it as ugly, but it may be doubted whether any one else concurred with him in opinion. The features, though large, and perhaps a little coarse, were by no means heavy, but susceptible of the most captivating, vivacious, and humorous expression. Drollery, indeed, and good humour might be said to characterize the face, though there was a strong touch of sarcasm about the mouth. The complexion of the person under consideration was singularly swarthy, his eyebrows thick and black, and the little that could be seen of his close-cropped hair, of the same raven hue. Such was the fugitive monarch, Charles Stuart, as he appeared to the two Cavaliers when they rode forward to salute him.