The Splendid Spur

The Splendid Spur

By Arthur Quiller-Couch.

Table of Contents

1. Titlepage
2. Imprint
3. Dedication
4. The Splendid Spur
   1. I: The Bowling-Green of the Crown
   2. II: The Young Man in the Cloak of Amber Satin
   3. III: I Find Myself in a Tavern Brawl: And Barely Escape
   4. IV: I Take the Road
   5. V: My Adventure at the Three Cups
   6. VI: The Flight in the Pine Wood
   7. VII: I Find a Comrade
   8. VIII: I Lose the King’s Letter; and Am Carried to Bristol
   9. IX: I Break Out of Prison
   10. X: Captain Pottery and Captain Settle
   11. XI: I Ride Down Into Temple: And Am Well Treated There
   12. XII: How Joan Saved the Army of the West; and Saw the Fight on Braddock Down
   13. XIII: I Buy a Looking Glass at Bodmin Fair: And Meet with Mr. Hannibal Tingcomb
   14. XIV: I Do No Good in the House of Gleys
   15. XV: I Leave Joan and Ride to the Wars
   16. XVI: The Battle of Stamford Heath
   17. XVII: I Meet with a Happy Adventure by Burning of a Green Light
   18. XVIII: Joan Does Me Her Last Service
   19. XIX: The Adventure of the Hearse
   20. XX: The Adventure of the Ledge; and How I Shook Hands with My Comrade
5. Colophon
6. Uncopyright

Imprint

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To
Edward Gwynne Eardley-Wilmot.

My Dear Eddie,

Whatever view a storyteller may take of his business, ’tis happy when he can think, “This book of mine will please such and such a friend,” and may set that friend’s name after the title page. For even if to please (as some are beginning to hold) should be no part of his aim, at least ’twill always be a reward: and (in unworthier moods) next to a Writer I would choose to be a Lamplighter, as the only other that gets so cordial a “God bless him!” in the long winter evenings.

To win such a welcome at such a time from a new friend or two would be the happiest fortune for my tale. But to you I could wish it to speak particularly, seeing that under the coat of Jack Marvel beats the heart of your friend

Q.

Torquay,
August 22nd, 1889.

The Splendid Spur

Being Memoirs of the Adventures of Mr. John Marvel, a Servant of His Late Majesty King Charles I, in the Years 1642⁠–⁠3

I

The Bowling-Green of the Crown

He that has jilted the Muse, forsaking her gentle pipe to follow the drum and trumpet, shall fruitlessly besiege her again when the time comes to sit at home and write down his adventures. ’Tis her revenge, as I am extremely sensible: and methinks she is the harder to me, upon reflection how near I came to being her lifelong servant, as you are to hear.

’Twas on November 29th, Ao. 1642⁠—a clear, frosty day⁠—that the King, with the Prince of Wales (newly recovered of the measles), the Princes Rupert and Maurice, and a great company of lords and gentlemen, horse and foot, came marching back to us from Reading. I was a scholar of Trinity College in Oxford at that time, and may begin my history at three o’clock on the same afternoon, when going (as my custom was) to Mr. Rob. Drury for my fencing lesson, I found his lodgings empty.

They stood at the corner of Ship Street, as you turn into the Corn Market⁠—a low wainscoted chamber, ill-lighted but commodious. “He is off to see the show,” thought I as I looked about me; and finding an easy cushion in the window, sat down to await him. Where presently, being tired out (for I had been carrying a halberd all day with the scholars’ troop in Magdalen College Grove), and in despite of the open lattice, I fell sound asleep.

It must have been an hour after that I awoke with a chill (as was natural), and was stretching out a hand to pull the window close, but suddenly sat down again and fell to watching instead.

The window look’d down, at the height of ten feet or so, upon a bowling-green at the back of the Crown Tavern (kept by John Davenant, in the Corn Market), and across it to a rambling wing of the same inn; the fourth side⁠—that to my left⁠—being but an old wall, with a broad sycamore growing against it. ’Twas already twilight; and in the dark’ning house, over the green, was now one casement brightly lit, the curtains undrawn, and within a company of noisy drinkers round a table. They were gaming, as was easily told by their clicking of the dice and frequent oaths: and anon the bellow of