"Tell His Grace of Portland that the townsfolk of Newport are prepared to repair to Carisbrooke—but to wrest the castle from the hands of the malignants."
"Crop-eared hound!" exclaimed the messenger, whipping out his sword. "Had I not been enjoined to deliver the message to the mayors of Newtown and Yarmouth ere midnight, I would right willingly give my life's blood to hew that head from off thy shoulders," and, drawing his horse almost on its haunches, the Royalist wheeled, and rode defiantly through the crowd, with head erect and drawn sword, none offering to bar his passage.
"Up, and smite the sons of Belial!" was the cry, and the more timorous of the townsfolk began to make for their homes.
"Yea, up and smite them, hip and thigh!" exclaimed the mayor. "News has this moment reached my ears that the wife of this malignant, the Earl of Portland, has taken refuge in Carisbrooke Castle, and has vowed to hold it against the Parliament and the people of England. Repair to your homes, arm yourselves, and assemble in the market-place within an hour, and I'll warrant that before to-morrow's sun hath set the castle will be in our hands."
Rapidly the crowd dispersed, and once more the thought of returning to school crossed our minds. It was now quite dark.
"Ralph," I exclaimed resolutely, "I've made up my mind. I'm not going back to school."
"Not?"
"No, I'm going to offer my services to the King. I can use a musket, push a pike, or wield a sword as well as a good many men."
"Then I'm with you," replied Granville. "But where shall we go?"
"Ah, where?" I replied, for that question had not occurred to me. "Either to the castle, or else make for home; I know my father would place no obstacles in my way."