Part 7 (1/2)

But the garrison defended themselves valiantly, until the provisions were exhausted, and even then refused to surrender under promise of quarter, hoping to escape by means of a boat, which they had provided for that purpose. A soldier of the parliamentary army, however, swam across the river, with a knife between his teeth, cut the cable of the boat, and brought it away; the castle was at length forced, and Sir Nicholas Hemys and forty slain in the a.s.sault. This event was considered by the parliament so important, that the captain who brought the news was rewarded with fifty pounds, and a letter of thanks was sent to Colonel Ewer and the officers and soldiers engaged in that service.”

In 1645, the castle, with the other estates belonging to the marquis of Worcester, were settled upon Oliver Cromwell, but were given back to the family at the restoration.

”For thirty years secluded from mankind, Here Marten lingered. Often have these walls Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread He paced around his prison. Not to him Did nature's fair varieties exist: He never saw the sun's delightful beams, Save when thro' yon high bars he pour'd a sad And broken splendor.”

All this, it now appears, is a poetical exaggeration, and the thirty years' captivity (diminished to twenty years) pa.s.sed away as easily as the sense of captivity would permit. The regicide was permitted to spend his property as he pleased, to enjoy the a.s.sociation of his wife, to receive visits, and even to return them in the neighbourhood, accompanied by a guard.

Marten was one of the most zealous of those men who cast down the statue of royalty from a pedestal, upon which, although re-erected, it can never again stand securely of its own strength unsupported by public opinion.

He does not appear to have been himself of irreproachable character, but he was honest at least in theory, and true to his principles, such as they were.

”Being authorised,” says Anthony Wood, ”by parliament, about 1642, he forced open a great iron chest, within the college of Westminster, and thence took the crown, robes, sword, and sceptre belonging anciently to king Edward the Confessor, and used by all our kings at their inaugurations; and with a scorn greater than his l.u.s.ts and the rest of his vices, he openly declared that there should be no farther use of those toys and trifles, and in the jolity of that humour he invested George Wither (an old puritan satyrist) in the royal habiliments; who being crowned and royally arrayed (as well right became him) did first march about the room, with a stately garb, and afterwards with a thousand apish and ridiculous actions exposed those sacred ornaments to contempt and laughter.”

Marten was a member of the high court of justice, regularly attended the trial, was present when sentence was p.r.o.nounced, and signed the warrant of death. It is added, that when Cromwell took up the pen to sign, he spattered some ink upon Marten; and Marten, when his turn came, returned the frolic! The two friends, however, were enemies at last. Cromwell would have made himself king if he had been able, but Marten said, ”If they must have a king, he had rather have had the last than any gentleman in England; he found no fault in his person, but in his office.” When the regicides who surrendered to the king's proclamation were condemned, they claimed mercy on the score of having given themselves up in order to save their lives; and Marten, always forward and fearless, added, ”that he had never obeyed any proclamation before this, and hoped that he should not be hanged for taking the king's word now.” He was at length condemned to perpetual imprisonment, but both in the Tower and in Chepstow Castle he was treated with great lenity. He died of apoplexy in the twentieth year of his confinement, and seventy-eighth of his age. He was buried in the chancel of the parish church at Chepstow, and a stone, with an inscription written by himself placed over his body. This was removed, however, to another part of the church, by the pious loyalty of a succeeding vicar; but the stone being defaced, a new one was subst.i.tuted, by order of the churchwardens, in 1812, with the original epitaph.

Here, September the 9, in the year of our Lord 1680, Was buried a true Englishman, Who in Berks.h.i.+re was well known To love his country's freedom 'bove his own, But living immured full twenty year, Had time to write, as does appear,

HIS EPITAPH.

H ere, or elsewhere (all's one to you, to me), E arth, air, or water, gripes my ghostly dust; N o one knows how soon to be by fire set free.

R eader, if you an oft-tried rule will trust, Y ou will gladly do and suffer what you must.

M y life was spent in serving you, A nd death's my pay (it seems), and welcome too; R evenge destroying but itself, while I T o birds of prey leave my old cage and fly.

E xamples preach to th' eye, care then (mine says) N ot how you end, but how you spend your days.

The church was part of the chapel of a priory of Benedictine monks, founded here soon after the Conquest; and is interesting from its architecture, being for the greater part in the early Norman style, but with ornamented gothic windows-and a tower adorned by the taste of the present age with Greek pilasters!

CHAPTER XIII.

Piercefield-Points of view-Curious appearance-Scenic character of the place-View from Wyndcliff-Account of Valentine Morris-Anecdotes-The Wye below Chepstow-Aust Ferry-Black Rock Ferry-St. Theodric-Conclusion.

The romantic region of Piercefield, extending from Chepstow to Wyndcliff-a distance of about three miles by the sinuous walk, is one of the grand attractions of this place. It is nothing more, it is true, than a gentleman's park; but then the landscape gardener by whom this park was laid out is Nature herself, who has lavished here her beauty, her grandeur, and her romance, in the wildest profusion. Art is entirely subservient to her purposes, opening the view where it was shut in, and forming paths for the pilgrim foot that would approach to wors.h.i.+p.

”In the composition of the scenery,” says the historical tourist, ”the meandering Wye, the steep cliffs, and the fertile peninsula of Lancaut, form the striking characteristics.

”The Wye, which is everywhere seen from a great elevation, pa.s.ses between Wyndcliff and the Bangor rocks, winds round the peninsula of Lancaut, under a semicircular chain of stupendous cliffs, is lost in its sinuous course, and again appears in a straight line at the foot of the Lancaut rocks, and flows under the majestic ruins of Chepstow Castle towards the Severn.

”The rocks are broken into a variety of fantastic shapes, and scattered at different heights and different positions: they start abruptly from the river, swell into gentle acclivities, or hang on the summits of the hills; here they form a perpendicular rampart, these jet into enormous projections, and impend over the water.

”But their dizzy heights and abrupt precipices are softened by the woods which form a no less conspicuous feature in the romantic scenery; they are not meagre plantations placed by art, but a tract of forests scattered by the hand of nature. In one place they expand into open groves of large oak, elm, and beech; in another form a shade of timber trees, copses, and underwood, hiding all external objects, and wholly impervious to the rays of the sun, they start from the crevices of the rocks, feather their edges, crown their summits, clothe their sides, and fill the intermediate hollows with a luxuriant ma.s.s of foliage, bring to recollection of the border

”'Of Eden, where delicious paradise, Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green, As with a rural mound, the champaign head Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides, With thicket o'ergrown, grotesque and wild, Access denied, and over head up grew Insuperable height of loftiest shade,

A sylvan scene and as the banks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.'”

And this grandeur is heightened, not diminished, by the view presented in the midst of fertile fields, and the simple details of rural occupation.

The peninsula of Laucaut, on the opposite bank of the Wye, is a comparatively extensive farm, cultivated to the highest perfection, and rich with the gifts of Ceres. It is dotted with trees, and a range of elms fringes it on the side of the river. Towards the middle of its pear-shaped area, or rather approaching the isthmus, stands the farm house, with rocks and woods behind. The princ.i.p.al points of view are the following: