In Spite of All: A Novel

by Edna Lyall

And measure of a stalwart man.”

—Lowell.

It was on Wednesday, October 19, that the main body of Essex’s army set out from Worcester, and after making slow progress, owing to the terrible state of the roads, they reached the little market town of Kineton between nine and ten o’clock on the Saturday evening. The people, who in those parts were favourable to the Parliament, received them with no little kindness, and Gabriel soon found himself in comfortable quarters in the house of a certain Manoah Mills, a saddler, whose wife, Tibbie, was eager to bestow the good supper she had provided on six of the soldiers she thought most in need of it.

The worthy couple stood in their doorway to make choice of their guests. “We will have naught but knowledgeable men,” said Manoah, shaking his bald head shrewdly. “Good talkers that can tell us the news, and good men that can argue a point in theology.”

“Nay,” said Tibbie, “but I will have for one yon lad with the sad eyes, he’s sore in need of mothering, by the look of, Pshaw! a mere boy, and not even an officer,” protested Manoah.

But Tibbie had a will of her own, and while her husband brought in some shrewd and knowledgeable men to his taste, she beckoned to Gabriel. “Me and my husband can give you shelter for the night, sir, and a good supper, if you’ll step in. ’Tis hard if those who are fighting for us can’t get food and lodging on a cold night like this,” she said.

Gabriel thanked her, and gladly sat down to the excellent supper of fried eggs and bacon, and rye bread which the good woman provided; but when the “knowledgeable men” passed from the events of the day to a warm argument on a difficult point in theology, he fell far below Manoah’s standard, not being able to take any interest at all in the discussion, but growing more and more sleepy, till at length, when he had nodded violently in the middle of his host’s eager remarks on election and fore-ordination, Tibbie kindly pointed to an old oak settle by the fire. Here he stretched himself in great content, and leaving the theologians to edify themselves with their favourite pastime, was soon lulled by their voices into dreamless sleep.

Sunday was to be a day of rest, and he woke with a relieved consciousness that there would be no more ploughing their way knee deep in mud through the country lanes. Tibbie provided them with an excellent breakfast, and was just expressing her admiration of the way in which they all prepared to attend morning service at the Church, when the bugle sounded “to arms,” and like wild-fire the news ran through Kineton that the King was only two miles from them. Already the Royalist cavalry were forming on the top of Edgehill, a high hill overlooking the little market town, and Essex promptly drew out his forces in the open ground between, lining the hedges and enclosures which lay upon one side with musketeers.

Gabriel, in the Lord General’s regiment under Sir Philip Stapleton, found himself on the right wing next to Lord Brooke’s purple-coated troop, on the one side, and to Cromwell’s troop on the other.

Then came the apparently interminable waiting which most severely tries those who have never before been under fire. The day was cold and windy, moreover, and much rain had fallen during the night; to wait hour after hour while the King’s army massed itself on Edgehill was far from inspiriting.