from coming into the wood to search for men that might be fled thither. And one thing is remarkable enough, that those with whom I have since spoken, of them that joined with the horse upon the heath, did say, that it rained little or nothing with them all the day, but only in the wood where I was-this contributing to my safety. As I was in the wood, I talked with the fellow about getting towards London, and asking him many questions about what gentlemen he knew. I did not find he knew any man of quality in the way towards London. And the truth is, my mind changed as I lay in the wood, and I resolved of another way of making my escape; which was, to get over the Severn into Wales, and so to get either to Swansea or some other of the sea-towns that I knew had commerce with France, to the end I might get over that way, as being a way that I thought none would suspect my taking; besides that, I remembered several honest gentlemen that were of my acquaintance in Wales. So that night, as soon as it was dark, Richard Penderell and I took our journey on foot towards the Severn, intending to pass over a ferry, halfway between Bridgenorth and Shrewsbury. But as we were going in the night we came by a mill, where I heard some people talking, (memorandum, that I had got some bread and cheese the night before at one of the Penderell's houses, I not going in,) and as we conceived, it was about twelve or one o'clock at night, and the country-fellow desired me not to answer if any body should ask me any questions, because I had not the accent of the country. 66 Just as we came to the mill, we could see the miller, as I believed, sitting at the mill-door, he being in white clothes, it being a very dark night. He called out, Who goes there?" Upon which Richard Penderell answered, "Neighbours going home," or some suchlike words. Whereupon the miller cried out, "If you be neighbours, stand, or I will knock you down." Upon which, we believing there was company in the house, the fellow bade me follow him close; and he run to a gate that went up a dirty lane, up a hill, and opening the gate, the miller cried out, Rogues, rogues!" And thereupon some men came out of the mill after us, which I believed were soldiers. So we fell a running both of us, up the lane, as long as we could run, it being very deep and very dirty, till at last I bade him leap over a hedge, and lie still to hear if any body followed us; which we did, and continued lying down upon the ground about half an hour, when, hear 66 ing nobody come, we continued our way on to the village upon the Severn, where the fellow told me there was an honest gentleman, one Mr. Woolfe, that lived in that town, where I might be with great safety; for that he had hiding-holes for priests. But I would not go in till I knew a little of his mind, whether he would receive so dangerous a guest as me and therefore stayed in a field, under a hedge, by a great tree, commanding him not to say it was I, but only to ask Mr. Woolfe whether he would receive an English gentleman, a person of quality, to hide him the next day, till we could travel again by night-for I durst not go but by night. Mr. Woolfe, when the country-fellow told him that it was one that had escaped from the battle of Worcester, said, that for his part, it was so dangerous a thing to harbour any body that was known, that he would not venture his neck for any man, unless it were the king himself. Upon which, Richard Penderell very indiscreetly, and without my leave, told him that it was I. Upon which Mr. Woolfe replied, that he should be very ready to venture all he had in the world to secure me. Upon which Richard Penderell came and told me what he had done. At which I was a little troubled; but then there was no remedy, the day being just coming on, and I must either venture that or run some greater danger. So I came into the house a backway, where I found Mr. Woolfe, an old gentleman, who told me he was very sorry to see me there, because there were two companies of the militia foot at that time in arms in the town, and kept a guard at the ferry, to examine every body that came that way, in expectation of catching some that might be making their escape that way; and that he durst not put me into any of the hiding-holes of his house, because they had been discovered, and consequently, if any search should be made, they would certainly repair to these holes, and that therefore I had no other way of security but to go into his barn, and there lie behind his corn and hay. So after he had given us some cold meat that was ready, we, without making any bustle in the house, went and lay in the barn all the next day; when towards evening, his son, who had been prisoner at Shrewsbury, an honest man, was released and came home to his father's house. And as soon as ever it began to be a little darkish, Mr. Woolfe and his son brought us meat into the barn; and then we discoursed with them whether we might safely get over the Severn into Wales, which they advised me by no means to adventure upon, because of the strict guards that were kept all along the Severn, where any passage could be found, for preventing any body's escaping that way into Wales. Upon this I took resolution of going that night the very same way back again to Penderell's house, where I knew I should hear some news what was become of my Lord Wilmot, and resolved again upon going for London. So we set out as soon as it was dark; but as we came by the mill again, we had no mind to be questioned a second time there, and therefore asking Richard Penderell whether he could swim or no, and how deep the river was, he told me it was a scurvy river, not easy to be passed in all places, and that he could not swim. So I told him that the river being but a little one, I would undertake to help him over. Upon which we went over some closes by the river side, and I entering the river first, to see whether I could myself go over, who knew how to swim, found it was but a little above my middle, and thereupon, taking Richard Penderell by the hand, I helped him over. Which being done, we went on our way to one of Penderell's brothers (his house being not far from White Lady's), who had been guide to my Lord Wilmot, and we believed might by that time be come back again, for my Lord Wilmot intended to go to London upon his own horse. When I came to this house I inquired where my Lord Wilmot was-it being now towards morning, and having travelled these two nights on foot. Penderell's brother told me that he had conducted him to a very honest gentleman's house, one Mr. Pitchcroft *, not far from Wolverhampton, a Roman Catholic. I asked him what news? He told me that there was one Major Careless in the house, that was that countryman, whom I knowing, he having been a major in our army, and made his escape thither, a Roman Catholic also, I sent for him into the room where I was, and consulting with him what we should do the next day. He told me that it would be very dangerous for me either to stay in that house or to go into the wood,— there being a great wood hard by Boscobel; that he knew but one way how to pass the next day, and that was, to get up into a great oak, in a pretty plain place, where we might see round about us; for the * Charles mistook the name, which was Whitgreave. He was thinking of the field called Pitchcroft, near Worcester, where his army was encamped the night before the memorable battle.--ED. enemy would certainly search at the wood for people that had made their escape. Of which proposition of his I approving, we (that is to say, Careless and I,) went, and carried up some victuals for the whole day; viz., bread, cheese, small beer, and nothing else, and got up into a great oak, that had been lopped some three or four years before, and being grown out again very bushy and thick, could not be seen through, and here we stayed all the day. I having, in the meantime, sent Penderell's brother to Mr. Pitchcroft's, to know whether my Lord Wilmot was there or no, and had word brought me by him at night that my lord was there, that there was a very secure hiding-hole in Mr. Pitchcroft's house, and that he desired me to come thither to him. Memorandum :-That while we were in this tree we see soldiers going up and down in the thicket of the wood, searching for persons escaped, we seeing them now and then peeping out of the wood. That night Richard Penderell and I went to Mr. Pitchcroft's, about six or seven miles off, when I found the gentleman of the house, and an old grandmother of his, and Father Hurlston, who had then the care, as governor, of bringing up two young gentlemen, who, I think, were Sir John Preston and his brother, they being boys. Here I spoke with my Lord Wilmot, and sent him away to Colonel Lane's, about five or six miles off, to see what means could be found for my escaping towards London; who told my lord, after some consultation thereon, that he had a sister that had a very fair pretence of going hard by Bristol, to a cousin of hers, that was married to one Mr. Norton, who lived two or three miles towards Bristol, on Somersetshire side, and she might carry me thither as her man; and from Bristol I might find shipping to get out of England. 256.-SEA-SONGS. OUR Sea-Songs have a character of their own, which is identical with the character of a sea-girt people. It is not mere fancy to believe that there is something peculiar in that character. The extent and variety of these songs renders a small selection quite inadequate to exhibit their freshness, their heartiness, their thorough knowledge of a sailor's life. One of the most popular, as well as the most refined of these songs, is the famous ballad of GAY. The air of this ballad has been attributed to Handel; but it was the composition of Leveridge, a basssinger, who also composed The Roast Beef of Old England.' BLACK-EYED SUSAN. All in the downs the fleet was moor'd, 66 Oh! where shall I my true love find? Rock'd with the billows to and fro, The cord slides quickly through his glowing hands, So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast, The noblest captain in the British fleet "O Susan! Susan! lovely dear! My vows shall ever true remain ! Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be Believe not what the landmen say, Who tempt with doubt thy constant mind; |