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306 pages

English

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The stark ideological division between Catholics and Protestants has long been an issue in British society, spurring numerous bloody conflicts along the way. In the engrossing historical novel Micah Clarke, Arthur Conan Doyle sets the title character's coming of age story at the height of these schismatic tensions, adding a dramatic backdrop to Micah's already tumultuous life.

Sujets

Historical fiction

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juin 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775458715
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

MICAH CLARKE
HIS STATEMENT AS MADE TO HIS THREE GRANDCHILDREN JOSEPH, GERVAS AND REUBEN DURING THE HARD WINTER OF 1734
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

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Micah Clarke His Statement as Made to His Three Grandchildren Joseph, Gervas and Reuben During the Hard Winter of 1734 First published in 1889 ISBN 978-1-77545-871-5 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I - Of Cornet Joseph Clarke of the Ironsides Chapter II - Of My Going to School and of My Coming Thence Chapter III - Of Two Friends of My Youth Chapter IV - Of the Strange Fish that We Caught at Spithead Chapter V - Of the Man with the Drooping Lids Chapter VI - Of the Letter that Came from the Lowlands Chapter VII - Of the Horseman Who Rode from the West Chapter VIII - Of Our Start for the Wars Chapter IX - Of a Passage of Arms at the Blue Boar Chapter X - Of Our Perilous Adventure on the Plain Chapter XI - Of the Lonely Man and the Gold Chest Chapter XII - Of Certain Passages Upon the Moor Chapter XIII - Of Sir Gervas Jerome, Knight Banneret of the County ofSurrey Chapter XIV - Of the Stiff-Legged Parson and His Flock Chapter XV - Of Our Brush with the King's Dragoons Chapter XVI - Of Our Coming to Taunton Chapter XVII - Of the Gathering in the Market-Square Chapter XVIII - Of Master Stephen Timewell, Mayor of Taunton Chapter XIX - Of a Brawl in the Night Chapter XX - Of the Muster of the Men of the West Chapter XXI - Of My Hand-Grips with the Brandenburger Chapter XXII - Of the News from Havant Chapter XXIII - Of the Snare on the Weston Road Chapter XXIV - Of the Welcome that Met Me at Badminton Chapter XXV - Of Strange Doings in the Boteler Dungeon Chapter XXVI - Of the Strife in the Council Chapter XXVII - Of the Affair Near Keynsham Bridge Chapter XXVIII - Of the Fight in Wells Cathedral Chapter XXIX - Of the Great Cry from the Lonely House Chapter XXX - Of the Swordsman with the Brown Jacket Chapter XXXI - Of the Maid of the Marsh and the Bubble Which Rose fromthe Bog Chapter XXXII - Of the Onfall at Sedgemoor Chapter XXXIII - Of My Perilous Adventure at the Mill Chapter XXXIV - Of the Coming of Solomon Sprent Chapter XXXV - Of the Devil in Wig and Gown Chapter XXXVI - Of the End of it All Endnotes
Chapter I - Of Cornet Joseph Clarke of the Ironsides
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It may be, my dear grandchildren, that at one time or another Ihave told you nearly all the incidents which have occurred during myadventurous life. To your father and to your mother, at least, I knowthat none of them are unfamiliar. Yet when I consider that time wearson, and that a grey head is apt to contain a failing memory, I amprompted to use these long winter evenings in putting it all beforeyou from the beginning, that you may have it as one clear story in yourminds, and pass it on as such to those who come after you. For now thatthe house of Brunswick is firmly established upon the throne and thatpeace prevails in the land, it will become less easy for you everyyear to understand how men felt when Englishmen were in arms againstEnglishmen, and when he who should have been the shield and theprotector of his subjects had no thought but to force upon them whatthey most abhorred and detested.
My story is one which you may well treasure up in your memories, andtell again to others, for it is not likely that in this whole county ofHampshire, or even perhaps in all England, there is another left alivewho is so well able to speak from his own knowledge of these events,or who has played a more forward part in them. All that I know I shallendeavour soberly and in due order to put before you. I shall try tomake these dead men quicken into life for your behoof, and to call backout of the mists of the past those scenes which were brisk enough inthe acting, though they read so dully and so heavily in the pages of theworthy men who have set themselves to record them. Perchance my words,too, might, in the ears of strangers, seem to be but an old man'sgossip. To you, however, who know that these eyes which are looking atyou looked also at the things which I describe, and that this hand hasstruck in for a good cause, it will, I know, be different. Bear in mindas you listen that it was your quarrel as well as our own in whichwe fought, and that if now you grow up to be free men in a free land,privileged to think or to pray as your consciences shall direct, you maythank God that you are reaping the harvest which your fathers sowed inblood and suffering when the Stuarts were on the throne.
I was born then in the year 1664, at Havant, which is a flourishingvillage a few miles from Portsmouth off the main London road, and thereit was that I spent the greater part of my youth. It is now as it wasthen, a pleasant, healthy spot, with a hundred or more brick cottagesscattered along in a single irregular street, each with its littlegarden in front, and maybe a fruit tree or two at the back. In themiddle of the village stood the old church with the square tower, andthe great sun-dial like a wrinkle upon its grey weather-blotched face.On the outskirts the Presbyterians had their chapel; but when the Act ofUniformity was passed, their good minister, Master Breckinridge, whosediscourses had often crowded his rude benches while the comfortable pewsof the church were empty, was cast into gaol, and his flock dispersed.As to the Independents, of whom my father was one, they also were underthe ban of the law, but they attended conventicle at Emsworth, whitherwe would trudge, rain or shine, on every Sabbath morning. These meetingswere broken up more than once, but the congregation was composed of suchharmless folk, so well beloved and respected by their neighbours, thatthe peace officers came after a time to ignore them, and to let themworship in their own fashion. There were Papists, too, amongst us, whowere compelled to go as far as Portsmouth for their Mass. Thus, you see,small as was our village, we were a fair miniature of the whole country,for we had our sects and our factions, which were all the more bitterfor being confined in so narrow a compass.
My father, Joseph Clarke, was better known over the countryside by thename of Ironside Joe, for he had served in his youth in the Yaxleytroop of Oliver Cromwell's famous regiment of horse, and had preachedso lustily and fought so stoutly that old Noll himself called him outof the ranks after the fight at Dunbar, and raised him to a cornetcy.It chanced, however, that having some little time later fallen into anargument with one of his troopers concerning the mystery of the Trinity,the man, who was a half-crazy zealot, smote my father across the face, afavour which he returned by a thrust from his broadsword, which sent hisadversary to test in person the truth of his beliefs. In most armiesit would have been conceded that my father was within his rightsin punishing promptly so rank an act of mutiny, but the soldiers ofCromwell had so high a notion of their own importance and privileges,that they resented this summary justice upon their companion. Acourt-martial sat upon my father, and it is likely that he would havebeen offered up as a sacrifice to appease the angry soldiery, had notthe Lord Protector interfered, and limited the punishment to dismissalfrom the army. Cornet Clarke was accordingly stripped of his buffcoat and steel cap, and wandered down to Havant, where he settled intobusiness as a leather merchant and tanner, thereby depriving Parliamentof as trusty a soldier as ever drew blade in its service. Findingthat he prospered in trade, he took as wife Mary Shepstone, a youngChurchwoman, and I, Micah Clarke, was the first pledge of their union.
My father, as I remember him first, was tall and straight, with a greatspread of shoulder and a mighty chest. His face was craggy and stern,with large harsh features, shaggy over-hanging brows, high-bridgedfleshy nose, and a full-lipped mouth which tightened and set when hewas angry. His grey eyes were piercing and soldier-like, yet I have seenthem lighten up into a kindly and merry twinkle. His voice was the mosttremendous and awe-inspiring that I have ever listened to. I can wellbelieve what I have heard, that when he chanted the Hundredth Psalm ashe rode down among the blue bonnets at Dunbar, the sound of him roseabove the blare of trumpets and the crash of guns, like the deep roll ofa breaking wave. Yet though he possessed every quality which wasneeded to raise him to distinction as an officer, he had thrown off hismilitary habits when he returned to civil life. As he prospered and grewrich he might well have worn a sword, but instead he would ever bear asmall copy of the Scriptures bound to his girdle, where other men hungtheir weapons. He was sober and measured in his speech, and it wasseldom, even in the bosom of his own family, that he would speak of thescenes which he had taken part in, or of the great men, Fleetwood andHarrison, Blake and Ireton, Desborough and Lambert, some of whom hadbeen simple troopers like himself when the troubles broke out. He wasfrugal in his eating, backward in drinking, and allowed himself nopleasures save three pipes a day of Oronooko tobacco, which he kept everin a brown jar by the great wooden chair on the left-hand side of themantelshelf.
Yet for all his self-restraint the old leaven would at times begin towork in him, and bring on fits of what his enemies would call fanaticismand his friends piety, though it must be