High Meadow House.
High Meadow House, where Massey’s troops were quartered, was but a step from the Buckstone. A first-class mansion it was, belonging to a gentleman, by name Benedict Hall, and inhabited by him till within a few days before. A large landowner, with estates both in the shires of Gloucester and Hereford, he commanded some influence throughout the Forest country, and being a bigoted Papist, he, of course, went for the King and the devil, as those of his sort have ever done since Vaticanism became a power upon the earth.
But in something more than a mere sentimental way had the master of High Meadow shown his political inclinings. Second only to those of the silly old Marquis of Worcester, and the wicked Sir John Wintour, were his services to the Royal cause in that quarter, his great wealth enabling him to pay for soldiers, if he could not himself handle them. More than one well-appointed squad had he armed and equipped at his own expense, now sending subsidies to Wintour at Lydney, and now helping Lord Herbert on the Monmouth side. Moreover, at the breaking out of hostilities he had fortified High Meadow House, and ever since held it with his own servants and hired retainers.
His wife, a priest-ridden woman, had been prime inspirer and chief instigator to all this, herself moving about among the men employed on the defensive works, encouraging them with speech, and promises of reward for devotion to the King’s cause.
There came a time, however, when this ultraloyal couple began to get tired of the bauble which was costing them so dearly. For over two years it had been a constant drain upon their resources: all output and nothing returned, save the scantiest of thanks—such gratitude as might be expected from princes, above all, one like Rupert. Had Benedict Hall better held by his Bible, it would have warned him against the hollow trust. The battle of Marston Moor did that more effectively than the sacred Book; showed him the fool’s part he had been playing, and that likely a day was on the dawn when England’s people would no longer be the consenting slaves of Royal caprice. So, bitter Papists and malignants as were he and his wife, their worship for Pope and King did not blind them to coming events; and they had now turned their thoughts to the rising sun. When the news came from the North of the Royalist rout, and was followed by other adverses to the King’s cause, Benedict Hall, like many others of higher rank, hastened to change sides, or, at all events, save himself by “compounding.” Which, in reality, he afterwards did, the wife, clever woman, conducting the negotiations with the Parliamentary Committee.
Ere this, however, on hearing of Wintour’s defeat by the Wye’s mouth, they had forsaken their fortified mansion at High Meadow, betaking themselves to Bristol; just as the master of Hollymead with his family had fled to it many months before—both seeking it as a city of refuge, but from enemies the very opposite!
Even more abruptly, and in greater haste, had the Halls abandoned their home, leaving behind, not only their furniture, but some of their most cherished household gods. Provisions, too, in plenty—eatables and drinkables, with the still undischarged staff of domestics. Snug quarters for the Parliamentarians, fatigued after their sharp conflict at Beachley, and difficult march through the Forest, with its tortuous routes and steep pitches.
As already said, Colonel Walwyn and his troopers had come on in advance, Massey’s men having but just arrived, when, forsaking saddle, he and Sir Richard started off to the Buckstone to reconnoitre.
Now returned from it, they looked upon a spectacle which, though of a striking character, was not new to either of them. Huge fires blazed up everywhere, with great joints of meat spitted and sputtering over them; soldiers, with doublets off and shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, knife in hand, still engaged in cutting up the beeves they had butchered; hundreds of horses, with saddles off, standing haltered along the walls, munching corn, which the master of High Meadow House had been hoarding up for visitors who would have been more welcome. For, up to a late period, he had been expecting Rupert and his Cavaliers to come that way.
The soldiers were in high glee, congratulating one another on the comfortable quarters into which they had dropped. For at High Meadow House they found not only full granaries, but a well-stocked larder and cellar containing various potables. A portion of the last had been already dealt out to them, and they were quaffing and laughing, one giving ironical thanks to the absent host for having so thoughtfully provided the entertainment, another in like strain drinking his health.