The party required little pressing, but willingly consented to stay.
Orders having been sent to the steward by Major Farrington, an abundant repast was speedily served, to which more than fifty persons, including the chaplains and officers, sat down.
Sir Thomas Prestwich and his companions were placed at the upper end of the table near the countess, and only separated from them by Doctor Brideoake was Colonel Rosworm.
In taking leave of her ladyship, her visitors bade her be of good cheer, and as they passed through the gate they called out “God bless the king and the Earl of Derby.”
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XII
How Rosworm was taken by Standish to the Guard-room in the Gate-house
COLONEL ROSWORM seemed quite reconciled to his captivity. Indeed, there was nothing irksome about it, since he was treated rather as a guest than as a prisoner.
The countess directed Standish to show him every attention, and take him where he would, except upon the Eagle Tower and ramparts.
Rosworm had thus an opportunity of seeing the men, and was greatly struck by their appearance. Almost all of them were stalwart fellows with a very resolute expression of countenance, and though many of them were not equipped as soldiers, but looked like what they were—huntsmen, keepers, and fowlers—he could not doubt they were excellent marksmen, and admirably adapted for the service on which they were employed.
“Those men have been most judiciously chosen,” he remarked to Standish; “and now I see them and their long fowling-pieces, I do not wonder that so many of our pioneers have been shot.”
“I will show you some of our best marksmen,” said Standish. “They have just finished their watch, and have gone into the guard-room. We shall find them there.”
With this, he took Rosworm to the gatehouse, near which half a dozen musketeers were posted, and entering a small door in one of the towers, mounted a short circular staircase that brought them to the guard-room.
A large square chamber, with strong stone walls, and a staircase on either side that afforded instant communication with the leads above on which two pieces of ordnance were placed.
Narrow loopholes commanded the drawbridge, and there was a mullioned window looking towards the outer court.
Within the chamber were machines for raising and lowering the two portcullises.
Seated on benches at a stout oak table, and making a hearty meal from a cold meat pasty were a dozen stalwart men. Occasionally they applied to a large jug of beer placed in the centre of the table, but these interruptions were not frequent.
All these individuals wore buff coats, and belts from which hung powder-flasks and pouches containing bullets; while reared against the walls were long fowling-pieces and screwed guns evidently belonging to them.
So occupied were the hungry marksmen with their meal, that they did not notice the entrance of Standish and his companion; and besides, the intruders were partly hidden by the portcullis which had been raised.
“What hast thou done, Tom Thornhaugh?” asked a man whose back was towards them, of a brawny yeoman who sat opposite him. “I heard thee fire twice, and I suppose neither shot missed?”
“Thou art right, Dick Bold,” replied Thornhaugh. “It grieves me to kill those poor country folk who are forced in the trenches—but I couldn’t help it. I wish I could get a shot at some of their officers—but they always contrive to keep out of reach.”
“Not always,” rejoined Dick Bold, with a laugh. “I should have lodged a bullet in Captain Bootle’s brain this morning, had he not worn a combed headpiece.”
“I have been on the look out for Colonel Rigby,” remarked another, whose name appeared to be Launce Walker; “but he was too cautious to come near.”
“Ay, marry, Rigby would have been a feather in thy cap, Launce,” observed Dick Bold. “All the garrison would have rejoiced at his death, but thou say’st truly—he won’t expose himself to danger.”
“Nay, we ought to give the devil himself his due,” observed another of the company. “Rigby doesn’t want courage.”
“He doesn’t want cunning and malice,” said Dick Bold. “I verily believe it is he who has caused this place to be besieged. He hates our good lord because he trailed his friend Captain Birch under a hay-cart at Manchester. That was a good jest.”
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