Roger Willoughby: A Story of the Times of Benbow

by William Henry Giles Kingston

They rode on, the sun descending on their right into the waters of the Bristol Channel, enabling them to steer a tolerably direct course. At last they came to a deep wooded dell, the sides covered with trees, being so steep that it at first appeared that they could not possibly get down them. The sound of falling water assured them that there was a stream at the bottom, which would enable them to give their horses water. They were not likely to find a better place. They accordingly, dismounting, led their horses down, endeavouring as little as possible to disturb the ground, so as to leave no traces behind them. They were not disappointed in the locality. There was water and grass for their horses, and they had some dry bread and fish, with which the old fisherman supplied them, in their knapsacks for themselves, while the trees grew so closely that it was impossible for any one above to discover them. They, therefore, having watered their horses and eaten some of their scanty provision, lay down with a sense of tolerable security to sleep, while their animals cropped the grass close to them. Still they were anxious to get farther southward, where, among the rough Cornish miners, they were likely, they hoped, to be able to effectually conceal themselves till the search for fugitives from the battle-field was likely to be over. Night passed quietly away, the weather continuing fine, and at early dawn, their horses being thoroughly refreshed, they led them up out of the dell. The country was now much more wild and rugged than any they had yet passed over, and their progress was proportionately slow. Under other circumstances they would have enjoyed the scenery, but their hearts were too sad and their anxiety too great to enable them to think of anything but the means of securing their safety. They had proceeded for about a couple of hours, and were looking out for a place where they could stop and eat the scanty remains of food they had brought with them, when they caught sight of two horsemen coming towards them.

“Who can those men be?” asked Andrew.

“King’s dragoons,” answered Stephen. “It would be no use to fly. Our only chance is to dash forward and cut our way past them if they attempt to stop us.”

“Agreed,” said Andrew. “You take the fellow on our right, and I will tackle the other.”

They rode quietly forward, nerved for the contest; but just as they were about to plunge their spurs into their horses’ flanks, three other dragoons appeared coming along the road. There was a deep ravine on the right full of trees and brushwood. Andrew proposed that they should ride down it as far as they could go, and then throwing themselves from their horses, endeavour to make their way through the wood till they could find some place of concealment. The attempt was a desperate one, as the dragoons might follow as fast as they could. At the same time, they would have somewhat of a start, and being more lightly clad than the dragoons, would make quicker way.

“Whatever we do let us keep together,” said Stephen; “and, if die we must, die fighting side by side.”

“Agreed,” said Andrew, who was always ready to follow his younger brother’s lead. Just, however as Andrew was about to ride his horse down the steep bank, the dragoons dashed forward at so rapid a rate, that Stephen saw it would be impossible to follow without the risk of being cut down when unable to defend himself.

“Keep on the road,” he cried out to Andrew, who had just time to turn his rein, and drawing his sword, galloped forward. The next moment the dragoons fired. The weapons of all four were clashing together. Both were tolerably skilful swordsmen. Stephen wounded his antagonist in the sword-arm. Andrew gave the other a plunge in the side which made him reel in his saddle, and dashed on to encounter the other three, who were now spurring forward to meet them. They had some hope of success, and their courage was high, though their horses were not equal to those of their opponents. They quickly met, when Stephen found his sword whirled from his grasp, and his horse borne to the ground. At the same moment Andrew uttered a cry, and Stephen saw him, to his dismay, fall bleeding from his horse.

“We give in,” cried Stephen, anxious to save his brother. Notwithstanding, two of the dragoons, with swords uplifted, were about to cut them down, when the third, who appeared by his uniform to be an officer, cried out, “Do not strike,” throwing up his men’s weapons at the same time.