By the terms of capitulation the soldiers of the vanquished garrison were to march out unmolested. But they must go at once, so as to vacate quarters for the in-coming conquerors. To civilians three days were allowed for decision as to staying or going, with the implied right of removing their effects. This last clause may seem a sorry jest, since there was not much left them for removal. Of course, all who knew themselves compromised, and had the means, decided on going.
Among these, it need scarce be said, was the Master of Hollymead. Under royal ban already, he knew Bristol would no longer be a safe place of residence, either for himself or his daughters. Perhaps he feared more for them under the aegis of such an aunt, and the companionship of such a cousin. The Cavalier wolves would now be ravening about free from all restraint—admitted to Montserrat House, and there made more welcome than ever. Sad he had been at finding his sister so changed; irksome the sojourn under her roof; and now that opportunity offered to take departure he hastened to embrace it. So eager was he to get away from the surrendered city, that he would not avail himself of the three days’ grace, but determined to set forth on the morning after the surrender.
Luckily he had but few effects to embarrass him, having left his plate and other Penates in Gloucester, whither he intended repairing. It remained but to provide transport in the way of saddle-horses, just then a scarce and costly commodity in Bristol. But cost what they might, Ambrose Powell has the means of obtaining them; and that night, ere retiring to rest, he had everything ready, His daughters had been warned and were prepared for the journey; both of them eager as himself to set out upon it—neither caring ever to set eyes on Aunt Lalande or Cousin Clarisse again.
Still another sunrise, and the people of Bristol were treated to a spectacle different from any that had preceded, or they had ever witnessed. They saw the late defenders of their city, now disarmed and half-disbanded, marching away from it, out through its gates, and between files of their foes, these last lining the causeway for some distance outside.
In such cases, among the soldiers of civilised countries, it is a rule, almost universal, that no demonstration be made by the conquerors to insult or further humble the conquered. More often may be heard expressions of sympathy even deeds of kindness done. But all was different at this the first surrender of Bristol. As the defeated soldiers marched out, many with yes downcast and mien dejected, no word nor look of pity was bestowed on them. Instead, they were assayed with taunts and derisive cries, some even getting kick or cuff as they ran the gauntlet between the lines of their truculent enemies. And these were “the gallants of England,” ready to “strike home for their King,” as one of their songs puts it; but as ready to be spit upon by King, or Prince, if it so pleased him. Gallants indeed! As much desecration of the term applied to the Cavalier of Charles’s time as to the music-hall cad of our Victorian era.
The chief exodus of the departing Parliamentarians was by the gate, and along the road leading to Gloucester. There was nothing in the articles of capitulation to hinder them again taking up arms. For reasons already stated they were not prisoners, not bound by parole d’honneur, but free to turn round and face the foe now exulting over them whenever opportunity should offer. As a consequence, most took the route for Gloucester, where the stanch Massey still held his ground, and would be glad to avail himself of their services.
But not all making away were soldiers. In the stream of moving humanity were citizens, men and women, even whole families who had forsaken their homes, dreading ill-treatment at the hands of the Royalist soldiery; fleeing from Bristol as Lot from the doomed cities of the plain. Among these fugitives many a spectacle of wretchedness was presented, at which the unfeeling brutes who were witnesses but laughed.
Outside, and not far from the gate through which the motley procession was passing, Rupert sat in his saddle, the central figure of a group of splendidly uniformed officers. They were his personal staff, with the élite of his army, gathered there to gloat over the humiliation of adversaries who had oft humiliated them. Gentlemen as they deemed themselves, some could not resist gratifying their vengeful spleen, but gave exhibition of it, in speech coarse and ribald as any coming from the lips of their rank-and-file followers. In all of which they were encouraged by the approving laughter of their Prince and his high-toned entourage.
Never merrier than on that morn were these jovial gentry; believing as they did that the fall of Bristol was the prelude to their triumph over all England, and henceforth they would have it their own way.