In Spite of All: A Novel

by Edna Lyall

Then, with a kindly and courteous farewell, he walked on with his host, and, mounting at the door of the house in Cheap-street, rode to join Sir John Byron’s brigade of horse.

All noticed the cheerfulness of his manner and bearing in, the charge across Wash Common; every hedge in the neighbourhood was lined by the Parliamentary Musketeers, and the guns on the heights in front of them were doing their utmost to decimate the troop. But still in the front rank Falkland rode unscathed; it seemed as if death shrank from taking one whose noble heart and great intellect so far surpassed all others on that fatal field, destined to see the slaughter of well-nigh three thousand Englishmen.

At the end of the Common there came a pause, for it was necessary that Sir John Byron should reconnoitre the enclosed ground. Finding that the Parliamentary foot were drawn up at the further side of a large field, fenced on all sides by high, quickset hedges, and that the only entrance into this field was far too narrow to allow of the safe passage of the cavalry, Sir John gave orders that the gap should be widened, and even as he gave the word it was evident that the whole fire of the foot soldiers would be concentrated on this spot directly any should-pass it, for his horse was shot in the throat. Springing to the ground, he called for another, and in that moment Falkland—ever the first to rush upon danger—spurred his horse forward.

There was a happy light in his face, as was always the case in moments of peril.

Here was the chance he had long looked for! He passed through the gap—one man alone betwixt the two armies; the next instant horse and rider fell riddled with bullets.

The narrow entrance had proved for the heart-broken hero the gate of life.

All through the day the battle raged; the Parliamentary troops under Essex and Lord Roberts, with starvation staring them in the face, knew that they must conquer their foes or die and leave the city unprotected; the Royalists were determined to block the road to London, cost what it might.

At last darkness made further fighting impossible, and it was evident that the Parliamentary army had gained ground; moreover, the men could starve another day, but the King, whose ammunition had failed, was in a worse plight.

At midnight, Helena, lying sleepless in her room at the Rectory, heard the rumbling of gun carriages, and the tramp of armed men, and sprang up to hear what had passed. Dr. Twisse could only learn that the King’s troops were falling back on Newbury, and it was not until the next morning that they learnt that the London road was free. Later in the day Mr. Head brought them the news of Lord Falkland’s death.

“His body hath but now been recovered from the field,” he said; “and is to be borne to Oxford and thence to Great Tew. The peace of which he was a passionate promoter will be long in dawning for England, but it hath dawned for him.”