Page:Once a Week Volume 8.djvu/277

. 28, 1863.] that I would not risk,” she said, “to bring all this to his knowledge.”

“I wish I could help you,” said Harry, in all sincerity.

“Would you? Then surely it might be done! O! Harry! it must be done! It is too terrible that such disorders should go on; and that the gentlest of kings should be charged with them! You see,” she proceeded, drawing her horse close to Harry’s, and leaning over to him, that no word might be picked up,—“Lady Carlisle has always been indulgent to me; and she can do anything with the Queen; and the Queen can do anything with the King.”

“Hardly, in such grave affairs as these of the levies of money. In the church matter she might: but—”

“Well, then; Lady Carlisle can do anything with Lord Wentworth, and he is all-powerful with the King.”

“He is; but his temper is hard and inhuman. The people tremble when the Archbishop goes by, doubting whether he be not Satan in actual presence; but, for my part, I think Wentworth is the real devil, for pride and hardness, and banishment from that part of grace which is called repentance.”

“But Lady Carlisle,—she makes his black brows relax, and puts music into his voice in the very moment of wrath. If I could tell Lady Carlisle what we have seen—”

“It can do nothing but good,” Harry agreed; and Henrietta became more thoughtful than ever.

After the desolate village, the evil signs and tokens seemed to multiply. A very painful scene was in full view from the windows of the inn where they stopped for the night. A gem of a garden stretched between the parsonage and the inn; and it was the delight of the widow of the last clergyman. There were strangers here too, pretending to search for something hidden. By dusk they had buried all the lovely spring flowers, and turned up the velvet turf. In the morning, when Henrietta looked out, the fountain in the centre was a heap of ruin, and the fruit-trees, white with blossom, were prostrate. The landlord shook his head when Lady Carewe inquired kindly for the widow; and the tears filled his eyes when he said that she had neither husband nor child, so that everyone was glad to see the pleasure she could take in her garden. She would pine now more than before; and neither King nor Church was likely to do her any good. Most people thought that times were much changed in Merry England.

So thought the travelling party the more painfully the further they went. In the course of that day they witnessed several disturbances, from the peremptoriness of the tax-gatherers, and the discontent of the people. One of the strangest spectacles was in a country-place, where four roads met, and where, on that account, the pound was placed. There was nothing unusual in the array of soldiers who were about the pound; nor in the exclamations of the people; for such incidents occurred at every turn. The strangeness was in the aspect of the squire of the neighbourhood and his lady, who was on a pillion behind her husband. The squire in a loud voice, heard by all present, but by no means in a passionate manner, demanded that the cattle in the pound should be fed till some arrangement should be arrived at. The tax-gatherer declared that he had his orders to permit no access to the animals till the owner or owners should have paid the amount of ship money due. While the listeners kept quiet to hear what was said, the feeble low of the starving cattle reached the lady’s ear. These were her cows,—her whole dairy,—her pets, and the great amusement and interest of her leisure: they were dying of hunger, and no one could get near them, by day or night. She laid her head against her husband’s shoulder, and the sight of her grief stimulated the rage of the people. There could be no rescue, however, for there was a double ring of soldiers round the enclosure.

“She has not asked me to give way,” the squire observed, as Richard rode up to offer his sympathy.

“I honour her devotion to a great cause,” Richard replied. “My wife and I shall remember this act of fortitude when our turn comes.”

“You mean to refuse the payment of ship-money?” the squire quickly asked.

“Assuredly. As the son-in-law of Mr. Hampden—”

The squire took off his hat, and bowed to his saddle, in homage to the young couple. Richard went on:

“All Mr. Hampden’s children must expect to suffer from the malice of the time, as his case is to be pursued to extremity; and when the trial presses hardest, we shall remember this moment.”

The lady looked up, observing that her husband’s conscience being engaged in the matter, she could not say a word; but she did not think the King or his servants could be so cruel to innocent cows and their little calves. She had come herself, in the middle of the night, with only a servant or two, bringing hay. She did not want to release the cattle, because it was impossible: she never saw such a bar and padlock as had been put upon the gate: she only wanted to feed the poor things; but there were the soldiers,—all awake, and enjoying themselves over a fire in the road, singing songs, and frightening the cows. While she was telling her story, her husband privately informed Richard that he should remove her from the neighbourhood before night, so that she should hear no more before the cattle were all dead, and would not be fancying all night that she heard them lowing and moaning. The gentlemen agreed that there must come an end to such tyranny, and that the end could be nothing but rebellion, unless some arrangement could be presently made. They were of one mind, too, about the importance of Mr. Hampden’s resistance. It would put the right spirit into half the country gentlemen of England. When the squire had again made his lowest bow to the family of Mr. Hampden, the tax-gatherer was further than ever from any hope of handling any ship-money in that parish. He would make an example, he resolved, by seizing all the cows of all the recusants, and starving them every one.

After the pains and troubles of the journey, the aspect of home was full of comfort. It was not many days since the travellers had left it; but it was as charming in their eyes as if a year had